


What's In a Name

by Snooky



Category: Hogan's Heroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-03-26 19:30:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 35
Words: 95,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3862006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snooky/pseuds/Snooky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stalag 13 or Luft Stalag 13? Which is it? Where is it? Can the prisoners and their allies use this mix up to their advantage?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

.

What's in a Name?

Chapter One

An Unwelcome Visitor with Unwelcome News

May, 1940

Oberst Wilhelm Klink, still uncomfortable with his new post as Kommandant of a small, out-of-the-way POW Luft Stalag, was completely stressed-out as his camp was subjected to an unexpected visit and inspection taking place in front of his still untested staff, and the few prisoners they guarded. The haughty Berlin bureaucrat, Oberst Wolfram Gratz of the Wehrmacht, sent over on orders from the high command, kept Klink and his portly Sergeant of the Guard, Hans Schultz, walking double-time in order to keep up. Gratz gave a few disinterested glances at the huts, some of which were in various stages of construction. He ignored the prisoners' mess and recreation halls, but hurried over to the empty infirmary, opened the door, poked his head in, and then quickly closed the door.

"Your office."

"Are you sure you don't wish to see our delousing station?" Klink asked with fake enthusiasm.

Gratz, a man of few words, replied. "No. Your office." He didn't wait for Klink to lead the way, but instead barreled past the Kommandant.

"Your office is my office," Klink said as he adjusted his monocle. He hurried after Gratz as Schultz followed, bringing up the rear. "Wait outside," Klink ordered the sergeant.

"Hold all calls," Gratz said as he opened Klink's door.

"Hold all calls," Klink repeated.

Schultz saluted and then took a seat. He waited for the inner office door to close, then leaned back in the chair and put his feet on the desk, sighing as he did so.

"Don't you have a secretary or aide yet, Kommandant Klink?" Gratz reached into an inner pocket of his coat and pulled out a folded map.

"Not yet. I'm beginning interviews next week," Klink replied, deliberately neglecting to mention he had finagled the budget in order to hire a civilian female secretary from the nearby town.

"I'll have one assigned." Gratz cleared off Klink's desk with one large sweep of this left arm, flinging the papers and office supplies on the floor.

Klink scrambled to pick up the mess. Fortunately, that was all that was on the floor, for his prized possessions - the humidor given to him by his late uncle and his pickelhaub from the Great War - were not yet in the place of honor on his desk, as they were still en route with some of his other personal belongings. As he bent down, the Wehrmacht officer hit the desk with his hand, startling the Kommandant, who dropped his monocle. As Klink began to search for the glass, Gratz barked at Klink. "Look at this and tell me what you see," he said, paying no attention to the fact that Klink was on the floor.

"Ah." Klink found his monocle, picked it up, blew off the dust and hastily put it back on his eye. Without missing a beat, he stood up. "I see a map."

"Obviously." Gratz sneered at Klink. "Look at this map."

Klink bent over, gazed at the map for a second, and then commented. "It's a map of the POW system as of last month."

"And?"

"And? Here we are?" Klink pointed to a mark located southeast of Düsseldorf. The town of Hamelburg, the closest population center, was written in small letters. "Yes, there we are!" Klink repeated. He looked at Gratz, confused as to why they were engaged in a geography lesson.

"What is wrong with this picture, Klink?" Gratz asked, realizing that Klink had no grasp of the obvious. "Look." His finger pointed to a large complex in Bavaria, and then to Klink's small camp near Düsseldorf.

"Why, that's odd." Klink then chuckled. "There are two Stalag 13's! Imagine that! Obviously, there is a typo."

"No, Dummkopf. There is no typo. You are in District 6. These are in District 13. And there are two Hamelburgs. Your stalag has been mismarked."

Klink's mouth hung open for a moment. The whole world is coming to an end, and he's worried about a clerical error. Fortunately, Klink thought before he spoke. "Oh. Well, we're clearly labeled on the map. I fail to see why this should be an issue. Besides, we are Hamelburg with one M. They are Hammelburg with two M's." Klink chuckled nervously. "I had a friend who studied in America for several years. It was before the last war. He told me there were many Springfields in America. Imagine that?"

"You fail to see why this would be an issue, Klink?" Gratz sighed in unfeigned impatience, as he ignored Klink's trivia. "Don't you see the problem? You are a Luft Stalag. Down here, these camps are run by the Wehrmacht. There will be officer camps, enlisted camps and smaller work camps located in the vicinity. What if there is a mix-up and someone sends you an officer? Where would you put him?"

"Well, that's highly unlikely. But if it happened, one of our barracks comes with another room. Like a suite." Klink chuckled.

"I fail to see how that is funny."

"You're correct, it's not funny."

"You know, we discovered the person who made the clerical error."

"Is he going to fix his mistake?" Klink asked.

"He's in prison. He's lucky he wasn't shot. Personally, I would send him east. I have a feeling that area will blow up one day, and we'll be fighting the Russians." Gratz shook his head. "But don't quote me on that," he added hastily. "Or I'll have you shot as well."

"I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"Never mind. You need to fix this. The other camp will be larger and is much more important. And you're in a different district. I don't care how. I don't want this going any higher. The upper echelon has other things to worry about. Like building more camps. Eventually, we'll be overflowing with prisoners."

"But…But…Gratz. I have don't have the budget…" Klink had a good head for figures, and he was beginning to hyperventilate at the thought of the massive amount of paperwork involved in renaming the camp. "You don't understand…"

"Handle it! Or you can deal with the future consequences. Don't say I didn't warn you. And now I've forgotten your name, and your pitiful camp." Gratz turned on his heels, and slammed the door as he left. Fortunately, Schultz had good hearing and got his feet off the desk with seconds to spare. He jumped up as fast as his massive frame would allow, and saluted the departing officer.

"Schuuultzzz!" came the cry from the office; this was a sound that the Sergeant feared he would be hearing for quite some time, as it was his experience, both in the Great War and now, that officers could not function on their own.

He waddled over to the office and slowly opened the door. "You called, Kommandant?"

"Schultz, come in here and clean up this mess," replied the officer.


	2. Can We At Least Keep Our Phone Number?

What's in a Name

Chapter 2

Can We At Least Keep Our Phone Number?

"Do they realize what a problem this is?" Klink rubbed his hands together as he paced absentmindedly across the room. "There are signs, stationery, business cards, forms. Not to mention the maps. Can you imagine how many maps are out there? No you probably couldn't. And the Red Cross must be notified."

"But Kommandant, we only have a few prisoners. And since you have been here, there haven't been any escapes," Schultz added in an attempt to butter up his boss.

Klink puffed up. "Yes, you're right. There have not been any escapes. As I said, we need to notify the Red Cross. We do everything by the book here at Stalag 13. Geneva Convention and all."

"Abssssoooolllutely!"

"Get me the head of supply for this sector, and get me someone from the POW office in Berlin," Klink told Schultz.

Once Schultz was connected to the appropriate department, Klink got on the phone. After going up the supply chain, he was told in no uncertain terms that there was a war on, and that it wasn't their fault that his camp had been numbered incorrectly. When told of the threat on Klink's life (Klink didn't believe for a second Gratz's words that he would forget about the camp and the Kommandant) should the error not be rectified, the man on the other end of the phone broke down in hysterical laughter, and then hung up the line. Klink wisely decided that it would be more expedient to use his considerable influence in the town, pad his books, and get the necessary items himself. How he would get the maps reprinted, the official number changed, and the Red Cross notified was a matter for another time, as his calls and inquiries to the department in charge of POW's were not returned. The man who had assigned him to this backwater camp, Colonel Burkhalter - rumored to be in Poland – was unreachable.

Several days later, Klink assigned Schultz to supply detail. The sergeant huffed and puffed as he maneuvered his way through the streets of the bustling town center. His mission: find a cut-rate printing company that was willing to redesign and print new stationery, forms, and business cards for the camp. After that, he needed to locate a cut-rate sign maker to do the same. He left town hours later, having taken the time to enjoy a late lunch at one of the many fine restaurants in the area. Finally, his appetite sated and his thirst quenched, Schultz returned to the Stalag and made his report to the Kommandant.

Several days earlier, Klink had hired a skilled secretary he found through a contact; the dog handler. Both the Kommandant and Schultz had a hard time keeping their eyes off the pretty girl. She, in turn, was not as innocent as she appeared; being used to the attention, and also hiding an extreme dislike for the war, Hitler, and Fascism. She hoped that her new job would allow her to gather important information that she would later turn over to members of the Underground. Meanwhile, she felt that the Kommandant, a veteran of the Great War, was not too dangerous, and Schultz had already confessed to her that he was a Social Democrat and a former owner of a very large toy factory. Helga sorted through the samples and price sheets that Schultz had dumped on Klink's desk.

"Did I tell you to bring back prices for wedding invitations? Who is getting married?" Klink asked Schultz in a tone that would prove to be quite annoying, and common.

"They insisted, Kommandant."

"The prices are quite expensive Herr Kommandant. Are you sure we can afford this?" Helga asked as she looked through the brochures and price lists.

"Let me worry about the figures, my dear." But Klink was also surprised at the cost. With the war, certain services and supplies were at a premium. However, these fees amounted to highway robbery.

"Schultz, there is only one company represented here."

"I'm sorry Herr Kommandant. But, Hamelburg, which is verrrryyy nice, is small. Two of the shops were shuttered." Schultz tsked in sympathy. "And the other one was too busy printing propaganda. I mean informational flyers and posters," Schultz corrected himself quickly in fear that he would be arrested for speaking the truth. "And this shop is the only one left in town that can make signs."

Helga looked up at the two men, her eyes mesmerizing in their beauty. "Would you like me to go down there, Kommandant? Perhaps I can speak to them and work out a deal?"

"No, no." That was the last thing Klink wanted. He was not supposed to hire a civilian secretary, and a female at that. But he needed help. After all, there was filing to do, and he didn't trust Schultz, the dummkopf, to put things in alphabetical order, much less be able to take dictation. Helga, he had already discovered, was a whiz at shorthand, and a fast typist. The woman was a prime multitasker, and Klink was blessed to have her. He needed letters typed immediately. After all, he had many people to notify of his new assignment and promotion. Although his rank remained the same, it was an honor to have been appointed to oversee dangerous prisoners, or so he told himself, and command and get into shape the lackluster specimens assigned to guard these prisoners. Although he had planned on recruiting a civilian, out of curiosity, he had checked the turnaround time for the clerk Gratz had promised to send over, and he was sure he couldn't wait that long. After all, a man of his stature deserved, no…required…a secretary.

"Whatever you say, Kommandant." Helga replied. At the same time, she was thinking if the clerical error could be a catalyst for bigger and better things? Surely there was some way she could use this to her advantage, and the advantage of Hitler's opponents. She wasn't sure how. But, if she had her way, the chaos that may ensue from this one mistake would have repercussions far removed from misplaced mail and phone calls.

"I will go and make inquiries. Schultz, bring me my staff car."

Klink left his office in the capable hands of Fraulein Helga, while he and Schultz drove back into town. They pulled up directly in front of the printing company, and Klink marched in while Schultz waited in the car. The Kommandant, now the highest ranking officer in Hamelburg, held his head high, and in the haughtiest voice he could muster, asked the clerk behind the counter, "I would like to speak to the owner of this establishment."

The clerk, an older gentleman, showed no hint of surprise at the aristocratic colonel, his monocle and swagger cane. Klink peeked past the clerk and into the small back room. There was no sign of any work being done, or printing presses for that matter.

"This is a printing establishment, isn't it?" Klink asked as the clerk slowly put his cigarette out in the ashtray on top of the counter.

"Yes, sir."

"Are you the owner?"

"No, sir," came the bored reply.

Impatiently stomping his foot, Klink asked. "Do you know who I am?"

The clerk squinted at Klink's uniform. "An Oberst?"

Aggravated, Klink answered. "I am Kommandant Klink from the prisoner of war camp outside of town, and I venture a guess that I'm the highest ranking officer in this district."

"I guess that would be true," the clerk said as he rubbed his chin. "Well, Oberst, is there something I can help you with? The proprietor is at the plant. We only handle the orders and smaller deliveries here."

"Thank you. Yes. I may have need of a very large printing job. New stationery, calling cards, signs. Possibly more. You sent my aide back with an estimate, but sadly, it is much too high. With the war effort, you know, money is tight. So if you would please let me know how I can get in touch with Herr… what is the proprietor's name?"

"Bitmann."

"Very good. Herr Bittman. What is his number?"

The clerk gave Klink a blank stare. "He's quite busy, Oberst. I doubt you will reach him on the phone."

"Perhaps I can ask the Gestapo to get in touch with Herr Bittman?" Klink asked, although he knew that he would do no such thing.

The clerk did not take the bait. He took a piece of notepaper and scrawled down an address. "Oberst Klink, you might do better if you paid Herr Bittmann a personal visit. Shall I call over for you and let him know he should expect you?" The clerk smiled.

"Yes. Thank you. I shall do that." Klink, feeling satisfied at the progress he had made, clicked his heels, and gave the clerk a slight bow. "Heil Hitler."

"Heil Hitler," the clerk repeated. He watched the Oberst leave, and then picked up the phone. "Herr Bittman. It is Kurt down at the shop. The Kommandant from the POW camp outside of town was here. Ja. Well, I don't think he was pleased at the prices I gave his aide. He is on the way over. Nein. He did not frighten me at all. Danke."

Klink was in such a hurry, he forgot to wait for Schultz to hurry around and open the rear door to the staff car. Fortunately for Schultz, Klink did not notice that the sergeant was sleeping on the job. "We are going to the actual printing plant, Schultz. Here is the address." Klink passed over the paper.

Schultz took a map out of the glove box and traced the route. "I'm happy you made progress, Kommandant," he said as he pulled the car away from the curb.

"Rank has its privileges, Schultz, and it also open doors."

Schultz rolled his eyes at the remark. "I've never been to a printing plant before, Kommandant."

"Neither have I. I feel we will get the appropriate service from the owner. You need to speak to the man at the top. Remember that, Schultz."

"Yes, I will," the sergeant replied. Schultz left the downtown area, and turned north. After several kilometers, and two checkpoints, he turned east. A small industrial building could be seen a short distance away. "That must be the place," Schultz said.

"Obviously," Klink replied. "Drop me off in the front and then park the car."

"You don't wish me to come in with you?" Schultz asked, disappointed.

"No need. Wait in the car, and study the map."

Schultz watched Klink entered the building and rested his head on the rear of the driver's seat, closing his eyes. Within a few minutes, he began to snore.

Klink walked into a small lobby and stood in front of the closed window, which he tapped. The receptionist looked up and slid open the glass. "Good afternoon. I am Oberst Klink of Stalag 13. Herr Bittman is expecting me." Klink removed his gloves and waited.

"I will announce you, Herr Kommandant." The receptionist offered Klink a smile, and then pushed a button on the intercom. "Herr Bittman will see you now," she announced a few moments later.

Klink was escorted on to the floor of the busy plant. Workers were scurrying back and forth, the presses were humming and Klink could not hear himself think. The noise seemed to not bother his escort; a man in his 60's who introduced himself as one of the foremen, Johann Bittman, cousin to the owner. He carefully led the Kommandant around the perimeter, keeping his guest away from dangerous areas.

"It's very busy in here," Klink yelled as he took in the sights and sounds.

"What?"

"I said, it's very busy. Business is good?"

"I'm sorry, I can't hear you. Earplugs," replied the escort. "This way." He deftly stepped away from an operating forklift carrying reams and reams of paper. Another pallet nearby held pamphlets and posters, neatly tied up with string. A quick glance told Klink all he needed to know. The writing and pictures were all from Goebbels' department in Berlin. "Don't lag behind," Bittman warned." We've had no injuries yet this month. Don't want you to be the first. This way, please."

Bittman stopped outside an office. On the door was a nameplate identifying the occupant as the owner of the plant, Kurt Bittman. Klink looked through the large plate glass window that ran alongside the outer wall, giving the owner an unencumbered view of the plant floor. His escort knocked and then opened the door.

"Come in, Kommandant Kink."

"Klink. Thank you for taking the time to meet with me, Herr Bittman."

"Sit down." Bittman pointed to an office chair placed in front of his desk. Thank you Johann." His cousin nodded, clicked his heels and disappeared from the office, closing the door behind him.

"I would prefer to stand, sir. You see I'm…"

"Suit yourself. Cigar?"

"No. I'm now the highest ranking officer… are you sure it's safe to smoke those in a printing plant?"

"Can't on the floor." Bittman lit the tip and took a few puffs." He admired the cigar for a moment, and then put it in the ashtray on his desk. "Cuban," he admitted with no fear whatsoever. "Pays to get the best. I've had them for years."

"Well, I can see business is quite good," Klink stated. "Herr Bittman, I can promise you more business, now and in the future. You see, I run the Luft Stalag outside of town and I…"

"You require new stationery, business cards, signage and other assorted accoutrements to run a respectable but unfortunately mismarked and misnamed prisoner of war camp," Bittman interrupted. "That is correct, is it not?"

"Yes, sir. You are most correct." Klink now felt more optimistic, as obviously, this Herr Bittman seemed to understand what it took to run a proper POW establishment, not to mention satisfying other officers so that certain threats would be forgotten. "We do have a minor problem." Klink held back a nervous giggle. "Which you seem to be aware of."

"Word gets around town. Besides, your sergeant explained all to my shopkeeper. I am told that you cannot meet my prices?"

"That is also correct, sir. My budget can't absorb the quoted price. Since I am the highest-ranking Luftwaffe officer," Klink said quickly so as to not be interrupted and to make a point, "in this sector, and this POW camp will be one of the larger employers of young, fine, physical specimens of the glorious Third Reich…most local, I will remind you, I believe we can come to some agreement. Something mutually beneficial." Klink grinned, and approached the desk.

Bittman picked up the cigar, leaned back in his chair and placed his feet on his desk. "A mutually beneficial agreement?"

"That is correct," Klink answered eagerly.

"And if I supply you with the stationery, etcetera, what of the remainder of the issue? The mislabeled maps, and so forth."

"I…uh…I will deal with that later," Klink said with a bit of hesitation and irritation. Is this man working for someone else? "With these changes, at least those visiting will know exactly where they are, and where they've been."

"Including the prisoners?" Bittman removed his legs from the desk and sat up straight. He stood up and walked around the desk, picking up a file before standing directly in front of Klink.

"Well, of course. They will eventually be able to say that Luft Stalag 6 is the toughest prison camp in all of Germany. Do you know that since I've been assigned there, we have not had one successful escape?" Klink said.

"So I have heard. Well, Kommandant. Here is our estimate for your work." He opened the file, and glanced at the contents. "The answer is no."

"No, what?" Klink, his heart sinking, asked.

"I cannot meet your demands. These prices are my final offer. I have too much state business and I cannot afford to stop my presses to print up stationery, signs and business cards for a small inconsequential POW camp. Besides, how long do you actually think your camp will be in business? I'm sure the war will be over shortly, surrender will be signed and the prisoners will be, well whatever you do with prisoners after their country surrenders. That's not my concern. My concern is complying with Herr Goebbels' orders. You do understand, don't you, Kink? I suggest you contact the real Stalag 13. Perhaps they have the incorrect stationery and signs, which would be the correct ones for you?" Bittman broke out in laughter.

"I don't find this at all funny," Klink sneered, although his response came out more like a whine. "I will see myself out, Herr Bittman."

"Very well, sir. Please do not hesitate to call again. Perhaps in the future, we may be able to assist you. Meanwhile, I would suggest you try Düsseldorf." Bittman held out his hand, which Klink ignored. "And don't forget to stay on the perimeter of the floor," he yelled to the Kommandant as Klink headed back towards the reception area.

Klink was too angry to wallow in his misery. I am a respected Oberst. A decorated veteran of the Great War, and now a Kommandant, and this is the respect I get. He stormed out of the plant, and quickly strode to the car. His mood got darker as his driver did not immediately get out of the car to open the door for his commanding officer. Instead, Klink pulled on the handle of the passenger door and found it was locked. He began banging on the door. "Schuuulllltz!"

Schultz was startled out of a wonderful dream that involved toys, workbenches, and chocolate fountains. He hit his head on the roof of the car, and then panicked as he realized what he had done. First he unlocked the passenger door from the inside, and then groveled. "I'm so sorry, Kommandant. I did not see you or hear you," he apologized as he scurried around the car and opened the door.

"Never mind. Just drive me back to camp."

"I take it you were unsuccessful."

"Yes, Schultz. The man was an ingrate. He should have been honored to have me come in personally and ask him to handle our important project. But, no. He was disrespectful. Too busy printing up pamphlets from Goebbels' office."

"Oh, but Kommandant. Prices are very high right now, and I'm sure there will be a shortage of paper and ink. Besides, if Herr Goebbels wants something printed, don't you think that should be the first project on the list? When I got an order from my biggest customer…"

"Oh, shut up, Schultz. I'm not interested in your civilian life. Just drive."

Some bigshot, Schultz thought as he turned the car and headed back to camp.


	3. Helga Goes on an Errand

What's in a Name

Chapter 3

Helga Goes on an Errand

After returning to camp, Schultz dropped the Kommandant off and then drove the car back to the motor pool. Schultz grumbled to himself that if Klink only took the time to listen to his subordinates and learn about their lives, Schultz's years of experience running a business may have helped the Kommandant bargain with the printing plant's owner. Meanwhile, a defeated Klink trudged up the steps to his office, wondering why his considerable charm and high position could not persuade the printing plant owner to negotiate. As he entered, Helga intercepted the Kommandant and handed him a hot cup of tea.

"Thank you my dear."

"You're welcome. The guard at the gate phoned when you arrived. No luck?" she asked as she followed the colonel into his office.

Klink put the cup on his desk. "No luck. Herr Bittman wouldn't budge. He's too busy with official business. And I have to believe him. The plant was very obviously operating at the highest capacity." He sat down behind his desk, opened the bottom drawer and pulled out a tin of biscuits. "Will you join me?"

"No thank you. I have more work to do. I have heard that Herr Bittman is an unpleasant man. Most people in our area went to other printing establishments in town, but they've been shut now for several years."

Klink looked up at his secretary. "Yes. Well. We must adapt, mustn't we?"

"I suppose. What do you plan to do about the mistake, Kommandant?"

"At the moment, I don't know." Klink was interrupted by the jingle of the phone. He stopped Helga with his hand before she ran into the outer room to answer. "I'll get it."

"Stalag 13," he answered. "No, not that Stalag 13. This is Luft Stalag 13. Oh, you've reached the correct camp? Wonderful." Klink looked at Helga, who smiled. "Well, this is Kommandant Klink speaking. Yes. Yes. I understand. How soon? I will need to do some expansion. Yes. Heil Hitler."

"More prisoners?" Helga asked.

"Yes. We've captured quite a few on our march across Western Europe." His previous woes now forgotten, Klink rubbed his hands together in glee and in anticipation. "They are being transported as we speak. Helga, we need to look into increasing our capacity. I'll need to see the original blueprints of the camp. Please arrange a staff meeting."

"Right away."

Helga left the office and opened the file cabinet. She pulled out a file in which she had organized a chart of all staff officers and guards that spoke other languages. Unfortunately, the list was not long, but she thought it would be helpful to the Kommandant in any case. Opening another drawer, she pulled out a file, removed its contents and put it on her desk. This can't be right. The blueprints were labeled Stalag 13, not Luft Stalag 13 or Luft Stalag 6, if you wanted to be technical. The complex shown on the prints was the size of a small town, not a small cleared area near the woods. She picked up the papers and knocked on Klink's door. Entering, she put both files in front of her boss, pointing at the heading. "I thought you could use this file, Kommandant. I made an organizational chart of the language skills of all the guards and staff members in camp. It's not many, but I think you may need some guards who speak more than German and Polish."

"Helga, that's brilliant. We will be getting some men from Belgium, France, and The Netherlands. And soon some from England, I hope, which is why we need the expansion."

"Yes, sir. The war seems to be heading that way," Helga replied without enthusiasm. "Unfortunately, I have some bad news. These blueprints are from the wrong camp, Kommandant."

"Are they?" Klink gazed at the papers. His secretary was correct. There was no mistake.

"Do you wish me to call the other Stalag 13 and see if they have our blueprints?" Helga asked.

"No. We don't have the time. They would have to look for them, and if they have them, by the time they get here, the prisoners will be here, and they will be sleeping outside because we won't have huts, not to mention we won't have enough sanitary facilities."

Helga nodded, appreciating that her new boss seemed to care a bit for the poor men being held captive. "Perhaps they have copies at the clerk's office in Hamelburg. I assume all architectural prints have to be checked before permits are issued, and then they're filed. If you wish, I can stop there and see if I can have copies made."

"Helga, you're a true find."

Helga smiled. "Thank you again, Herr Kommandant."

Klink smiled back, pleased that he had taken the dog handler's advice to hire this bright young woman. "Why don't you take the rest of the day off? You live in town, don't you? You can stop at the clerk's office on the way home. We'll call the staff meeting for tomorrow morning then at 0900."

"Very good, Kommandant. I'll need some money for the copies, and definitely something in writing."

Klink opened the top drawer of his desk. "Fortunately, I do have some stationery. For now, it will have to do." He pulled out an envelope and some letterhead, and jotted down a paragraph and his signature. "Here you go. And use the petty cash. Just write it down in the book. If they give you any grief, my dear, have them call me. I will be right here."

"I will call you and let you know I have them, Kommandant." Helga was now in a good mood as not only did she have an afternoon off, but it appeared as if the numbering mistake might have lasting consequences. What, she couldn't guess, but it would be interesting to find out. Before leaving the office, Helga made a few quick calls, informing the small staff of the meeting the next morning, and then left the camp.

Klink, meanwhile, gazed at the drawing of the camp on the wall behind his desk. "You will have to be updated." He took down the frame and placed it on the floor next to the window. He then took his seat behind his desk and enjoyed the rest of his tea and biscuits.

It was camp policy that Helga be escorted by one of the guards if she had to walk to another building, or to and from the gate. Although she didn't fear the small contingent of Polish prisoners, she agreed that the stares did make her a bit uncomfortable…not that she blamed the men, of course. After all, it had been quite some time since they had contact with a female. Today, her escort was Sergeant Schultz, who was quite talkative as they made their way to the front of the camp.

"Will you have to wait long for the bus, Helga?"

Helga didn't own an automobile, but fortunately a nearby bus stop was added when the stalag opened.

"No, Sergeant. One should be coming by within a half-hour," Helga replied. "Or I may walk. It's a nice day."

"I'm glad you are helping Kommandant Klink. The camp has been running much more efficiently since you arrived." Schultz stopped and good-naturedly glared at a group of prisoners, who seeing the secretary, moved a bit away from their building in order to get closer. The natural leader of the group gave Schultz a wave, and then moved his men back with a look. "I should take Polish lessons," Schultz mumbled.

"Well, you speak English perfectly," Helga said as she rewarded the group of prisoners with a small smile. "The Kommandant hopes to receive English prisoners."

"We will have a multinational camp soon. Which is nice. I like meeting people from other countries," Schultz said. He then wrinkled his brow. "Although I wish it was not this way. A transatlantic trip on an ocean liner. Now that would be the way to meet people from everywhere. I wanted to take my Gretchen on a trip to America. But now, I don't think it will ever happen," he whispered.

Helga patted his arm. "Don't give up hope," she consoled the kind guard. "This war can't last forever," she whispered. "Thank you for the escort, Sergeant," she spoke louder as they reached the gate. "I will see you tomorrow."

Helga walked out of the gates, her flat shoes allowing her to walk briskly towards the road. She made a right turn and headed towards the stop, which was only a few minutes' walk. She was mulling over whether or not to continue towards town, when she spied the bus heading her way. It stopped; she entered and paid her fare, and then sat down a few rows back. This time of day the bus was crowded with residents heading into town from the rural areas outside of Hamelburg. A few smiled at Helga, acknowledging her presence, but one, a middle-aged woman seated across the aisle, frowned at the young secretary. "You work at the camp?" she asked, disapproval obvious in her tone.

"Yes." Helga looked the woman straight in the eye. Helga saw no shame in being a working girl, despite Hitler's opinions that good German girls should be homemakers and baby-makers for the Third Reich. Well, not everyone lived a fairy-tale life. Being swept up by a nice young man, getting married and having children happened to others. There was no prince charming on the horizon, and Helga needed to work to help her family make ends meet. Her mother had been let go from her job shortly after Hitler came into power, and Helga, in turn, was unable to secure a spot at a university. Her mother, a teacher at a secretarial college, was told that her job was to keep house for her family. Although there was now a labor shortage, Helga's mother had been unable to find another position. She used her free time to teach Helga business and secretarial skills. Helga's father had also lost his position when the factory in which he worked as a business manager was taken from its Jewish owners and converted to war production. Because of these connections, he was unable to find local employment, and he now worked at a factory in Düsseldorf for less pay, and only came home on weekends.

Helga quickly exited the bus when it arrived at the stop near the center of town. Her brief altercation with the disapproving housewife now behind her, Helga took a quick look around. The town was bustling. Homemakers were out doing their daily shopping, while soldiers strolled through the area, chatting and smoking. Ahead of her was the Hotel Hauserhof; to the right was the public library. Her family could not afford to dine at the hotel, and the library's collection was purged of many of the books Helga enjoyed reading as a child. She crossed the street, eyes downcast as several members of the Gestapo passed her by on their way to their headquarters. Fortunately, they took no notice of the secretary, who, even after all these years, still could not get used to living in a police state.

"Helga?"

Upon hearing her name, Helga turned and let out a broad smile. "Max. How are you?"

"Doing as well as can be expected. Is it true you are now working at the POW camp?" Suddenly, the man frowned. "You didn't lose your job?"

"Oh, no," Helga answered. "Yes, I do work there. Oscar Schnitzer helped set it up. I'm in town on camp business for the Kommandant," she replied proudly.

Max nodded. "That's good. What is the Kommandant like?"

"He's…" Helga thought for a moment. "Well, to be honest, I've only been there a few days. It's really too soon to tell. But he seems like a decent officer, I guess. He's a veteran from the last war."

"Well, you take care." Max patted her hand. "Frankly, a POW camp is no place for a young lady."

"Well, Max, it helps with the bills. And, I think there might be some unforeseen benefits to working there." Helga looked him straight in the eye. "Besides," she added. "It's better than working in that factory." She shuddered at the memory of her duty year.

"Now that was definitely no place for you," Max stated. "I have to get back to the store. Keep me updated on how things are going at the camp."

"I will. It was wonderful to see you."

Max clasped her hands. "Tell your mother I'm expecting a nice shipment of onions in tomorrow." He quickly glanced up and down the street in an odd manner, which didn't escape Helga's notice.

"Max, be careful," she whispered in his ear.

"Always, my dear."

Her spirits lifted after her chance meeting with the greengrocer, Helga continued walking the few more blocks to the building that housed various municipal offices; the outside of the beautiful old building was marred by large flags bearing the hated symbol of Hitler's regime flying from the roof. Helga checked her hair to make sure her bun was still intact, opened up the large, heavy door, and walked inside where German bureaucracy was fully on display. Despite the war, the town still needed to run efficiently. She went up to the reception desk and approached the older gentleman seated behind it. He smiled at Helga as she approached.

"I am looking for the office that stores blueprints and building permits." Helga removed the letter Klink had issued, and passed it over to the man.

"Second floor." He passed the envelope back to Helga without checking its contents.

"Thank you. Stairs?"

The man pointed to the right.

After climbing up two flights of stairs, Helga exited the stairwell, and stood for a moment before walking down the hall. Clutching her purse, she confidently opened the door into the records room, where a lone clerk was seated at a desk behind the counter. Since it was near lunchtime, Helga assumed the rest of the employees were on their break. The clerk noticed Helga, rose from his chair, and limped over.

"Can I help you?" he asked in a disinterested voice.

"Yes. I'm here on official business for Kommandant Klink."

"Who?"

"Colonel Klink. From the POW camp outside of town," Helga responded.

The clerk tilted his head, reminding Helga of a confused dog. "There's a POW camp outside of town?"

"Yes," Helga answered, resisting the urge to ask the clerk if he read the papers. "I need to see the blueprints and any other papers for the property. And we will need copies made of some of them." Helga placed the letter on the counter.

The clerk pulled out a pair of spectacles and picked up the letter.

"Stalag 13?"

"Luft Stalag 13," Helga corrected him.

"How many prisoners you got? Just curious."

Holding back her impatience-you could not rush bureaucrats and civil servants-Helga answered, "About a hundred from Poland. But we are getting more, and that means we need to expand, which is why we need the blueprints and survey maps…as it says in the letter."

The clerk rubbed his chin. "You should have a set at camp. One set goes to the building site. One set is filed here, and the architects or engineers have the originals in their office. Where's your set?"

"We don't have one," Helga stated. "I'm not at liberty to say why."

"Well, normally you can order a set from the firm for a small fee."

"How can I do that, if I don't have a set that shows the name and whereabouts of the firm?" Helga countered.

The clerk nodded. "You do have a point there. There is a charge for making copies."

"I am aware of that. I brought cash," Helga replied.

"Wonderful." The clerk gave Helga a creepy smile. "Wait there. I'll get the file."

Helga spied a chair positioned next to the door and took a seat. At least ten minutes went by before the clerk came back, carrying a large file.

"Now I know where your camp is. It's the old wilderness property. And then they turned it into a Hitler Youth Camp."

"That's correct," Helga replied. A Hamelburg native, she knew a bit of the history of the site, although she was already grown by the time the youth camp was in operation. The original buildings were being used as barracks, a mess hall, and the Kommandant's office and quarters.

"Here you go. That's a lot of copying. It could take a while."

Helga opened the file. "Oh, there are a lot of papers." Not being an architect, a builder or an engineer, Helga had to admit she was out of her element.

"Well, you probably don't need everything in there." The clerk flipped through the stack. "Like these permits and letters. You're looking for gas lines, water lines, soil samples. That kind of thing. They're adding more buildings?"

"Um. Yes. More barracks and a few others," Helga answered, now feeling a tad sorry she had judged the clerk too harshly. "But I'm sure they'll have to expand the water lines."

"If you want, you can look through the file over there." The clerk pointed to a table pushed up against the far wall. "Pull out what you want copied. Just don't mix up the order. Everything's labeled, but it's a nuisance putting them back."

"Thank you." Helga lugged the file over to the table and began looking at the pages, one by one. As the clerk had noted, she discovered many superfluous items and she was grateful he had given her the opportunity to save money and time. Thinking back to the blueprints of the other Stalag 13 she had in the office, she was pretty sure now what was needed.

After a few moments, she began to reach what she deemed was important information, including survey maps of the property, the area showing drawings of utilities, and what she hoped were future plans of expansion. She began putting those papers aside.

As the clerk had noted, the camp was originally designed as a recreational area in the 20's and had been upgraded several times. For some reason, older papers in the file were located behind the newer ones, until Helga realized the order was deliberately set that way. Determined not to miss anything, she decided to give each page a cursory once over. Suddenly, a page caught her further attention and her eyes widened at the ramifications of what she had seen. She looked over behind the counter. The clerk had disappeared into the back filing room and no one else was around. Quickly, Helga grabbed the page, folded it and placed it in her purse. Her heart now beating so hard she was afraid it would pop out of her chest, she continued looking through the rest of the file. Seeing nothing else, she closed it and picked up the pages she had set aside, and then returned to the counter.

"All set," she said with a smile as the clerk approached. "What do you think of my selection?" She crossed her ankles in an effort to stop her legs from shaking.

The clerk was obviously flattered and checked over the stack. "I think this will do fine," he answered. "But if there is a problem, give me a call." He jotted down his name and number on a sheet of paper and handed it to Helga. "I can have these copies ready for you by tomorrow noon."

"Thank you. That's very kind. I'll need a statement to bring back to camp. What do I owe you?"

"You can pay me tomorrow. I'll have an invoice ready for you. And it's a pleasure doing business with Luft Stalag 13." There was the creepy smile again.

Helga left the records office, and trying not to panic, slowly and carefully walked down the stairs to the first floor. She feared that she would be stopped and her belongings searched, but no one paid any attention to her. Her walk through town was equally tense, but again, she was not stopped. Now famished, because she dared not stop for lunch, she was grateful to finally reach the apartment building that was home. This time, she dashed up the stairs to the 3rd floor flat she shared with her parents, opened the door, barely missed tripping over her cat, and flopped on the couch, afraid she would begin to hyperventilate. "Mother?"

Thankfully, there was no answer. Her mother was most likely somewhere downtown running errands or shopping for that evening's meal. As soon as she caught her breath, Helga went into her small bedroom and sat on her bed. She opened her purse and took out the paper she had stolen from the file. She could not believe what she had done, and at this point she didn't quite know what to do with the paper, except she was sure she needed to hide it. Walking over to her desk, Helga opened a drawer, removed a letter opener, and used it to pry open a floor board next to her wardrobe. As she suspected, there was a small space underneath that was perfect for hiding the sheet of paper, and anything else she might have to hide in the future.

Returning to the desk, she pulled out an envelope. Before putting the stolen sheet inside, she gazed at it one more time. It was dated 1923, and like the other sheets she had removed for copying, it had the original and current architectural firm stamped on there. Although she knew they had the original drawings, she couldn't worry about that right now. Besides, the firm was located in Düsseldorf. What mattered were the drawings she removed from the files today…the ones the Kommandant needed to show his Luftwaffe engineers, and the stolen page, which was an old survey map from the original property, showing a mine, with its abandoned entrance located underneath what was now most of Luft Stalag 13. How the Luftwaffe and the POW department missed this was a true mystery, one Helga was determined to discover. She couldn't recall anyone in town ever speaking about a mine, which appeared to have been closed long before the previous war. For now, until she found someone she could trust with this information, it would remain safely buried underneath her floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found an overwhelming amount of information on women's roles in Nazi Germany. I cobbled together several pages of notes from websites, Google books, articles, wikipedia, powerpoints put out by history professors, etc, and my own sources.
> 
> At first, women's roles were severely restricted when the Nazi's took power. Universities reduced their female quotas to 10 percent. Initially, many women lost their jobs. Men as well were moved around, and the experience of Helga's father (coming home only on the weekend) was common.
> 
> Many women considered Hitler their "savior."
> 
> Due to the eventual labor shortage, in 1937, German instituted a compulsory service plan for single women between 17-25. This was called the duty year.
> 
> "Women were supposed to emulate traditional German peasant fashions - plain peasant costumes, hair in plaits or buns and flat shoes. They were not expected to wear make-up or trousers, dye their hair or smoke in public.
> 
> The three Ks (Kinder, Kirche, Kuche) – motto for women. 'Children' for motherhood, 'Church' for morality and 'Kitchen' for wife and domestic entire focus of a females existence in Nazi Germany was supposed to be on domesticity and motherhood."  
> After 1936, policies began to change, as the labor shortage increased, and there was a backlash.
> 
> "Girls were taught to embrace the role of mother and obedient wife in school and through compulsory membership in the Nazi League of German Girls. However, rearmament followed by total war obliged the Nazis to abandon the domestic ideal for women. The need for labor prompted the state to prod women into the workforce (for example, through the Duty Year, the compulsory-service plan for all women) and even into the military itself (the number of female auxiliaries in the German armed forces approached 500,000 by 1945)." Holocaust museum


	4. Now Wait a Doggone Minute!

What's in a Name

Chapter 4

Now Wait a Doggone Minute!

a/n sorry for the delay in posting. I had to give my back a rest. And thank you to Sgt. Hakeswill for her wonderful beta work!

Once Helga realized the Gestapo was not about to knock down her door to search for a page that no one realized was missing, she relaxed and contacted the Kommandant. The staff meeting was postponed until the following afternoon, in order to give Helga time to pick up the copies of the blueprints.

An ebullient Klink, monocle in place and swagger stick under his arm, presided over the staff meeting, while Helga took copious notes in shorthand.

The camp engineer, a dour-looking captain whose primary goal in life was to keep breathing, examined the blueprints in depth, while the rest of the staff waited impatiently for his confirmation that the expansion could commence. They all hoped he would recommend that the expansion could continue indefinitely, thereby ensuring the cushy and relatively safe assignment they all craved.

"Uh uh." The engineer, blueprint in hand, walked over to Klink's window, opened the shutters and gazed out at the compound. At this time of day, it was filled with prisoners exercising, talking or doing laundry. "Hmmm." He turned the copy sideways, then back again the other way.

Helga paused, not sure quite sure how to process these odd sounds into shorthand. Taking a break, she leaned back in her chair, crossed her legs and waited, unintentionally diverting the attention of the other men in the room away from the engineer at the window.

Finally, Klink coughed, unable to bear the suspense any longer.

Hearing the sound, the engineer turned. "Question, Kommandant?"

"Yes, Captain Sunderman. We're waiting for you to grace us with an opinion. Hmmm?"

Quickly, Helga uncrossed her legs, diverting the attention back to the captain and the Kommandant. She jotted down Klink's words, then looked at Sunderman expectantly.

"I believe we can do this. Yes, indeed." Sunderman snapped his fingers.

A silent sigh of relief from the men, from the lowest ranking, to the sergeant in charge of the motor pool, and up to the Kommandant, was almost audible, and obvious to Helga.

"I will need reports from all department heads on my desk by tomorrow morning," Sunderman said. "And, Kommandant, we can use the prisoners to build more barracks, but I will need trained, licensed contractors to assist with electrical and plumbing work."

Now Klink was more than ebullient; he was almost walking on clouds. "This is a great day." He put his swagger stick aside, then shook the captain's hand. "Luft Stalag 13 will be the finest POW work camp in all of Germany. Yes, Schultz?"

Schultz, whose hand had been raised, said, "I beg to report, Kommandant, that we still need to deal with the, with the...". He walked over to Klink and whispered loudly in his ear. "You recall what that man said. He was not nice. We need to fix the numbering."

"Yes, Kommandant. What are we going to do about that mistake? My wife in Stuttgart doesn't know how to address my letters," said the armory officer.

"We'll need more food," stated Corporal Keiter, who was in charge of the messes. These statements got all the men talking at once, for nothing was more important to any military person than food and mail.

Helga stopped trying to take notes, and stood up.

"Quiet," Schultz said. After no response, he tried again. "Quieeettt! Fraulein Helga can't hear."

This stopped the cacophony immediately. Thankfully for the Sergeant-at-arms, the few officers present did not object.

Klink moved to face his staff, all in a neat row by the door. "Fraulein Helga, Sergeant Schultz, and I have been working diligently to address the misnaming issue. We hope to rectify the situation soon. I can assure you that we have everything under control."

Turning to Sergeant Schultz, he added, "And Schultz, that man assured me in his visit that we should handle it, and that he had better things to do."

"Not exactly," Schultz murmured to Helga.

"And Keiter," Klink continued. "I suggest you start dealing with the local farmers, rather than rely solely on military shipments. Besides, the food will be fresher."

"As you wish, Kommandant."

"Is that it for comments and questions?" Klink asked. "No? Diiisssmisssed!"

Helga approached the Kommandant. "I'll type up these notes for you."

"Thank you, Helga. I think the meeting went well, don't you?"

"Yes, sir."

Helga was quick to realize that, like her cat, Klink's ego needed to be constantly stroked. The difference between the two, however, was that the cat had higher self-esteem. Thinking about her cat reminded her that she needed to speak to the dog handler about his last bill. Catching up to Schultz before he left the office, Helga asked him to inform her the next time Oskar came to camp.

Work began on the expansion the following day. In exchange for extra electricity and hot water, Polish prisoners were tapped to help build the barracks that would hold the newly captured airmen being transported to camp. These construction crews were watched over by Schultz and several of his guards.

"Stop right there!" Schultz said in broken Polish. He put down his rifle and pointed to Sergeant Chernetsky, who paused from his hammering. Schultz stepped forward, ignoring the fact that his rifle was now leaning unattended against the rear wall of what was to become Barracks 12. "Your pockets."

"What?" asked Chernetsky. He shook his head to indicate he didn't understand what the guard was saying.

Schultz patted his own pockets then stepped forward and held out his hand. Chernetsky looked down at the ground and shrugged, then rifled through his pockets, removing several nails, some screws, a ruler, a piece of chalk and some string.

"The nails and screws," Schultz demanded, as he held out his hand. The other guards moved over to where this little altercation was taking place.

At the same time, while the Germans were distracted, another set of prisoners walked along the edge of the building. Their hands were in their pockets, and as they moved, clods of dirt fell from inside their pants legs, unnoticed onto the ground.

Along with new facilities, new prisoners warranted an increase in enlisted camp personnel. Klink had initiated the request for extra guards as soon as word came that the prisoners were on the way. He also had enough foresight to ask for personnel that spoke English and French.

However, as May turned into June, and word came that the British Expeditionary Force and thousands of French had been evacuated from Dunkirk, Klink became nervous. The steady trickle of expected new prisoners now threatened to turn into a rapid torrent of French and British, with a smattering of Dutch and Belgian airmen added into the mix. After all, Klink's stalag was located near the Dutch and Belgian borders. Klink logically assumed that rather than create logjams in the railroad network, German authorities would drop off the captured airmen at the closest facility. But the expected guards did not arrive at the front gate, so Klink was forced to do what he hated most: make inquiries on the phone.

His guards had been sent to the wrong stalag.

And, as Klink soon discovered, German bureaucrats were not using common sense. Prisoners were sent first to an interrogation center, then to a transit center, and then to their final destination. Many of these were located further east, a logical choice, he realized, as this made successful escapes less likely. Fortunately, this gave the construction crew a few extra weeks to prepare, and it gave Klink extra time to find guards.

The veterinarian returned to the stalag the following week. He struggled to switch the dogs; for they seemed to react viciously to the guards.

Schultz gingerly approached the van and waited until Schnitzer closed the door to the dog pen before speaking to the normally surly and grumpy owner.

"What do you want Schultz?" Schnitzer asked as he checked off marks on his clipboard.

"Aren't you removing any dogs?" Schultz replied.

Schnitzer shook his head. "More prisoners coming in. I need to add more guard dogs."

Schultz jumped back from the fence as one of the dogs, a large male, snarled. Meanwhile, Schnitzer turned around, forcing Schultz to turn as well. Behind Schultz's back, and unnoticed by other guards busy with other duties, one new prisoner stuck his hand through the fence and gave another dog a pat and a treat. The animal responded with a lick, after which the prisoner quickly left.

"Fraulein Helga asked me to take you into the office. She has a question about a bill."

"Oh? Well, let's get this over with then. I have work to do back in town. I have a practice to run as well." Schnitzer smiled under his breath. He was always willing to say hello to Helga; after all, he had known her since she was a little girl, and he and his wife were friendly with Helga's parents.

Schultz, as wary of the vet as he was of the dogs, took Schnitzer into the outer office, then left to continue with his duties. As soon as the sergeant shut the door behind him, Schnitzer gave Helga a hug, then sat in the chair next to her desk. "Is the Kommandant in?" he asked.

Helga shook her head. "He's at a meeting in town." She wrinkled her nose. "He is still looking for extra guards; then he has to stop by the Gestapo office. There is a new head, and he asked to speak with Kommandant. You forgot to sign your latest invoice."

"Ah." Schnitzer grabbed a pen, and signed the paper with a flourish. "There. Everything is under control."

"I'll see that the Kommandant issues a check as soon as he gets back. He's very pleased with your service, by the way. But the Kommandant and the guards are all terrified of the dogs. "

"Well, then I'm doing my job, Helga. They are guard dogs, after all. Vicious dogs that will save Germany from all these dangerous prisoners," Schnitzer said. "But don't worry about them hurting you. You aren't wearing a uniform."

Helga tilted her head. "I sense a bit of sarcasm. The prisoners aren't really dangerous."

Schnitzer patted Helga's hand. "No, they are the enemy, and we have to be on our toes."

Helga frowned. "Well, if you say so, Herr Schnitzer. And, before I forget, I can't thank you enough for helping me get this job. It is a big help."

"You're welcome. And thank you for taking in the stray. It's hard to find people to take in animals nowadays. War jitters, you know." Schnitzer stood up. "I must be going, I have rounds to make."

"Thanks for stopping by. And the cat is no trouble. She keeps us company when my father is away," Helga told him.

After the dog-handler had left, Helga resumed her typing. A short while later, however, she decided to step outside for a moment, as it was a pleasant day and she needed some fresh air.

The usual guard was elsewhere as she opened the door and stepped outside, so Helga was alone as a curious event caught her attention. A guard was putting one of the dogs back into the pen and, as usual, the dog snarled and appeared to growl at the German.

Meanwhile, a few prisoners were tossing a ball around the yard. It got loose and rolled to the dog pen which, by now, was closed. One of the men, a Polish corporal, hurried over to retrieve it.

Helga held her breath as she expected unpleasant reactions, from both the dogs and the guards, as the prisoner got closer. The guard reacted quickly, ordering the prisoner away with frantic waves. But, to Helga's utter surprise, the dogs did not respond as expected. Not only did they not bark, snarl or growl, but she swore she could see one wagging its tail. The prisoner glanced at the animal, picked up the ball, then quickly left the vicinity.

For several days after Schnitzer's visit, Helga made a point to watch interactions with the dogs as much as possible. And, sure enough, the dogs reacted viciously to the guards, but not to the prisoners.

That weekend, when Helga was off, she decided to pay a visit to the vet. As an excuse, she brought his check, along with the blueprint she removed from the clerk's file. In case she was stopped, she brought file folders home, with the blueprint mixed in with other papers. She could always say she took some work home, and had told the Kommandant this.

After leaving her parents' apartment, she hopped on her bicycle to ride the several miles outside of town where Schnitzer's home and practice was located.

"I appreciate you delivering the check, Helga. But it wasn't necessary. I would have waited for the mail."

Schnitzer, Helga, and Schnitzer's wife, Greta, sat around the kitchen table, enjoying some cake and tea. This was the first time Helga had been inside their home although, over the years, she had accompanied her mother and their various cats to the vet's small office at the back of the house. Until she began working at the camp, she had never come across his guard dogs.

Helga took a sip of tea. "I need to ask you a question. It's about your dogs."

Greta stood up. "I will leave you two alone if you are talking business. Why don't you sit on the veranda or go for a walk?"

Schnitzer nodded. "Come outside. We'll take a little walk." He gave his wife a look and then headed to the front of the house.

"All right." Helga followed the vet outside. "Well, I was thinking about what you said back at camp the other day." Helga bit her lip, uncertain as to how best to approach the subject. "The dogs seem quite nasty, so much so that they frighten the guards. But, Herr Schnitzer." She paused a moment to gather her courage. "Something I saw that afternoon made me wonder; wonder if you' re up to something?"

Schnitzer stopped. "What did you see?"

"One of the prisoners got close to the dog pen. The dogs didn't react, and I thought one actually wagged its tail."

"That's ridiculous. What dog was it? Do you know? I'll need to switch it out."

Helga, hands on hips, stared at the veterinarian. "You seem a bit defensive, but not surprised. They react to German uniforms, but not others, don't they?" As Schnitzer tried to deny the truth, Helga stopped him. "It's all right. You've known our family for a long time. You know where we stand."

"Come with me," he said. He took Helga away from the house, back to the shelter and pens where the dogs were trained. "As you can see, I have a nice collection of uniforms here." He showed her Luftwaffe uniforms, as well as uniforms of Allied soldiers. "Once I got the contract for the guard dogs, I was able to get the uniforms from the army. It's a matter of good training. The dogs are smart. They know who is friend and who is foe. And with certain signals, they can put on an act."

Helga didn't ask who knew the signals or who might be able to control the dogs besides the guards. She suspected word might have spread throughout the prison population.

"But no one has escaped from camp. We've had a few attempts, but they didn't get far at all. I recall the dogs found the prisoners outside the wire."

Schnitzer shrugged. "Klink is lucky, Helga. And we don't want the prisoners getting hurt. This is dangerous work for all of us. Please forget what I've told you."

She nodded. "I do have one question for you. Do you know anything about past mining operations in this area?"

He stroked his chin. "No, I haven't heard of anything like that. And we've lived here a long time. Why do you ask?"

"I have something to show you. In fact, I'd like to pass it to you for safekeeping. It's in the file I brought with me," Helga said.

The two walked back into the house and, in full sight of Schnitzer's wife, Helga pulled the blueprint out of her file. "I found this by accident in the clerk's office. I wasn't thinking, really. But I just took it and hid it at home. Mother and Father don't know about this, and they won't know, if you decide to keep it, or pass it on to the right people." She passed the paper over.

"This is right underneath part of the camp!" he exclaimed. "Why would they put a POW camp on top of a mine entrance?" He showed it to his wife.

"That doesn't make any sense," she said. "I didn't even know there were mines here."

"It's not my area of expertise, but it appears this entrance was never completed. They must have scrapped the project," Schnitzer said. "Does anyone else know about this?"

"No. but the originals are with the firm in Düsseldorf," Helga answered. "What does this mean?"

"It means that either someone made an egregious error when they switched the property over to the Luftwaffe," said Schnitzer. "Perhaps the blueprint just got lost or they overlooked it. Not many people know about the entrance, I would assume. I've been out there with the dogs and I've never seen it. Another possibility is that someone knew the entrance was there and picked the location purposely. But, either way, there's a large cavernous opening under the barracks. The Nazis don't know about it, but we do."


	5. A Fair Trade and a Discovery

What's In a Name

Chapter 5

A Fair Trade and a Discovery

It had been a hectic morning, with so many men coming and going, that Helga had become distracted. She had failed to notice the private who had entered the building and now remained standing in front of her desk. The young man, cap held tightly in front of him, stayed quiet, until the pretty young secretary paused from her work to take a sip of water.

Startled, she tipped over the mug, spilling water all over the desk and onto the floor.

"Oh, I'm sorry, forgive me." The soldier felt for a handkerchief in his pocket. Not finding one, he began using his cap to clean up the mess.

Meanwhile, Helga righted the mug and used a towel from her drawer to lap up the water.

"It's okay to announce yourself," she said as she finished. "Can I help you, Private?" she asked after a short pause.

"I was told to report here. At least I think I was." He handed her his file. As he nervously played with his hands, she took the paperwork and walked over to the Kommandant's office.

"I'll announce you, Private…Langenscheidt." She looked at him quizzically. "You do know this camp is a Luft Stalag?"

"I do now."

Helga smiled, then knocked on the door.

"Come in," Klink answered.

"Kommandant. A Private Langenscheidt to see you."

"A guard? Wonderful. Langenscheidt? Come in. We're low on guards and…" Klink paused. "This is a Luft Stalag; you're Heer."

"My orders, sir."

Klink took the paperwork from the nervous soldier, glanced at it briefly, then set the file down in front of him. "Langenscheidt. Your orders said to report to Hammelburg, not Hamelburg."

Without waiting for a reply, Klink opened a drawer, pulled out a bottle of aspirin, then hastily shook out a dose.

"I …I …was ordered to report to a troop train heading to Hammelburg. When I told them it was Hammelburg, not Hamelburg, they wouldn't listen. This is Stalag 13, isn't it, sir?"

"Yes, well, temporarily." Klink muttered. "I get one Heer guard, and they get twelve of my Luftwaffe guards. Not a fair trade is it?"

Langenscheidt, now realizing the Kommandant expected a reply, answered, "No, sir?"

"Wait. Don't move."

"Yes, sir." Langenscheidt glanced at the closed door in a futile attempt to see the friendly face of the young secretary.

Klink picked up the phone. "Helga please connect me to the Kommandant at Stalag 13." He held up his hand.

"Von Crailsheim?" Klink said when the other Kommandant picked up. "This is Klink. Yes. Again. The guards that belonged here…Well, I insist you return them immediately."

"You what?" Klink exclaimed. "I understand you're bigger, and you are preparing the camp. But I have heard from reliable sources that you haven't received your prisoners yet. Well, we have and more are arriving."

"Yes, that's true, we've have no escapes," Klink said proudly. "So, we don't need the extra guards. No wait, I didn't agree…Yes, we have one of your guards here. It appears he didn't get the correct directions. Who? Hold on." After checking the file, he added, "Private Langenscheidt. He is a…please hold."

Klink put down the phone. "Langenscheidt. It says you're a linguistics expert? And a trained clerk?"

"Yes, sir," Langenscheidt replied. "I speak French, Italian, English and Dutch. And I type 65 words a minute, plus I know shorthand. Although not as well, I'm sure, as your secretary, sir."

Klink thought for a moment. "Hello? You may keep my guards, if I can keep your private. What. No he's not AWOL. He's here."

Langenscheidt began to turn pale.

"I will call you back." Klink hung up the phone. "What is it?"

"I think I should report to my original post, sir." Langenscheidt hoped to stay where he was, as this stalag looked way more inviting than he imagined the other stalag to be, but the mention of being absent without leave frightened him. So far, he had kept his nose clean, and he wished to stay that way. Moreover, although he was not a coward, he was not fond of violence or Hitler, and he wanted to stay away from the front. "Thank you for your assistance."

Klink stood up. "We could use a man like you here, Private."

"But sir, I'm in the Heer, and…"

"I'm sure I could arrange a transfer to the Luftwaffe, Corporal," Klink stated. "And I'll straighten out the AWOL charge."

Langenscheidt's mouth hung open for a moment. "Corporal? Um, but…Luftwaffe? Yes, sir. I will do as you request."

Klink rubbed his hands together in glee. "Welcome to our Stalag, Langenscheidt." He pushed the button on the phone. "Helga, send for Sergeant Schultz, then come in please."

Helga entered, smiled at Langenscheidt, then took her seat. "Yes, Kommandant?"

"I will need transfer papers and also promotion papers drawn up for Corporal Langenscheidt. He is now on-duty as a guard and translator. Plus, if necessary, he can relieve you on weekends."

"Oh? Congratulations, Corporal Langenscheidt," Helga said, turning to acknowledge him.

"Thank you," Langenscheidt replied, his head still swimming at how a numbers mix-up and two similar towns had led to a promotion and a transfer to another branch in a matter of a few minutes.

After sending Langenscheidt off with Schultz, Klink again called Stalag 13. However, he was forced to wait impatiently for the other Kommandant of return his call.

This time the Kommandant couldn't be bothered to speak with Klink; it was one of his aides on the phone.

"I will agree to let you keep my guards…and…wait, you have my clerk? He's been there how long?" Klink drummed his fingers on the desk. "And you were too busy to let me know. Now listen here, this is quite irregular."

"No, I understand how big you are, and will be…yes. You can keep my guards and clerk. But only if I can keep Langenscheidt." Sighing in frustration, he continued, "No, he's not AWOL. I said he is here."

"I can keep him if I promise not to bother you again? Fine." Klink held the phone away from his ear, as the yelling was giving him a headache. "And no, it's not my fault the maps have not been fixed. Good day!" Klink slammed down the phone. "Insolence!"

After waiting a moment for his ear to stop ringing, he signed Langenscheidt's transfer orders and promotion paperwork, then decided to call it a day.

After several weeks of holding on the blueprint that Helga gave him, Oskar decided the implications warranted further action. The veterinarian and a few other residents of Hamelburg met in the back room of a local Ratskeller, whose owner was sympathetic to their cause.

Max, the greengrocer, was one of the older members of their newly formed resistance cell. He spent several minutes looking over the blueprint, and then put it back on the table. "I don't recall ever hearing anything about a mine. This must have been started before I was born, and then abandoned."

"Well, we can't go around asking about it," said Otto, another member of their little cell. He took a sip of his beer. "I wonder if we can use this to our advantage."

"I don't see how," replied Max. "But if those prisoners decide to start digging, and dig far enough, they may get more than they bargained for."

Oskar was gently tapping his fingers on the table. "They're already starting to dig. I've noticed dirt spread around various areas. But I'm sure it's only a matter of time before they get caught."

"I thought you said the Kommandant was not very bright," Max pointed out.

"I'd say he's reasonably efficient, but also easily swayed. However, I've heard that the authorities send in specialists to look for tunnels." Oskar picked up the blueprint. "I think I can check out the entrance without being seen. I can tell the Kommandant I need to train the dogs in tracking. I'd say that it would be best if they were trained in the woods near the camp. I'm thinking if we can make use of this tunnel, we can store weapons, radio parts, and other items in there. If no one knows this entrance is there, the items should be safe."

"It might make a good hideout," Otto suggested.

"Well, we won't know unless we can get in there and see if it's stable," Oskar said. "But I'm an animal expert, not an engineer."

"I have no idea how to tell. We'd probably have to shore it up," said Max. "Unless it's already collapsed."

"Like I said, it's no use speculating. I'll try and get over there sometime this week," Oskar said as he picked up the blueprint. "If we can use this, we'll have to figure out how to get rid of the original paperwork in Dusseldorf."

"What's that saying? Don't put the cart before the horse?" Max chuckled. "Hey, maybe one of the prisoners knows something about dirt or mining. You think you could find out, Oskar?"

"I'd have to make contact," the vet replied. "But right now I won't risk that unless I have to."

The group agreed to meet at the same time the following week. Max and Otto also decided to check other sources in Hamelburg and the surrounding areas to see if any of their contacts had experience with engineering, building or mining.

The next morning, Oskar requested permission from the Kommandant to train dogs in the surrounding woods. The Kommandant gave his permission, and once Oskar explained that the guards would be a distraction at this point, he agreed that Oskar could handle the training on his own. Besides, the camp was still short on guards, and with new prisoners arriving daily, the men were needed in camp.

The following day, Oskar took two of his best dogs into the woods near the camp. To his satisfaction, he was easily able to follow the blueprint. The dog handler soon came to where he thought the mine entrance was located. But there was no obvious sign of the entrance. He had a hunch, however.

Oskar walked the dogs back and forth in a grid pattern to conduct a careful search. He continued to do this for about 20 minutes, being careful to not go over the same area twice.

Finally, by a small hillside covered with moss, vines and other foliage, the dogs showed signs of agitation. He stopped and let them loose. The large female started to dig, while the smaller shepherd barked.

"Is this it?" He pulled the dogs back, then examined the area. For several minutes he cleared away leaves and vines until he spotted what he was looking for: a sign that warned of danger. It had once been attached to a wooden door, but over the years the nails had rusted away, and the sign was now on the ground.

Oskar removed more foliage until the wood became totally visible. "All right my girls," he told the dogs. "Let's see what we find." He pushed at the wood, but the entrance didn't budge. But Oskar was strong, and he persevered. His perseverance finally paid off, as the wood collapsed and fell to the ground. Oskar grabbed the lantern he had with him, then entered the dark space with his dogs.

The immediate entrance was still intact. He couldn't see very far, but was able to see a room around three meters high, that gently sloped downward. He had seen enough.

Oskar was brave, but not foolish. It was too dangerous to explore this alone, so he backed out of the tunnel, telling his dogs to stay. After the animals obeyed, he replaced the wooden door, and covered it back up with the foliage. Satisfied he left it as he found it, he noted landmarks on the blueprint so that he could find the entrance more easily the next time.

Oskar looked around again at the surrounding area. The woods were to his south, and he knew that just past the tree line was the fence encircling the camp. From where he stood, he couldn't see the buildings, but the tops of several guard towers were visible.

The tower guards were usually looking at the prisoners inside the perimeter, and not usually all the way out in the distance. At least he hoped they weren't. "I really have to get a better idea of how this camp works," he told the dogs. He decided that the next time he was in camp, he would stay longer than normal to observe.

Meanwhile, he couldn't wait for the next meeting with his friends. And as he anticipated telling them the good news, and arranging for further exploration, he also contemplated the best way to make contact with the prisoners.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lt. Colonel Von Crailsheim was the first Kommandant of the real Stalag 13.
> 
> The Wehrmacht consisted of the Heer (army branch) the Luftwaffe (aerial branch) and the Kriegsmarine (Naval branch). (Thank you to Fortune Maiden, who pointed out my original error of placing Langenscheidt in the Wehrmacht.)


	6. Between a Rock and a Hard Place

What's In a Name

Chapter 6

Between a Rock and a Hard Place

end of June, 1940

The small local resistance cell consisting of a middle-aged veterinarian, an elderly shopkeeper, and their younger friend, Otto, had not done anything to draw attention to themselves. So far, their resistance amounted to listening to banned radio broadcasts and the occasional American phonograph record, the training of dogs to react differently to prisoners and guards, and plotting ways to hinder the German war effort without resorting to outright violence. They had been careful to change their various meeting locations, but as they had known each other for many years, no one who knew the trio would be suspicious of seeing the three men together.

Tonight, however, they were venturing into dangerous territory. With Oskar Schnitzer's acceptance of the missing blueprint and his subsequent discovery of the mine entrance, the three moved from passive observers of the ongoing tragedy befalling Europe, to active participants in the fight against evil.

It was dusk, and Max waited outside the tunnel with one of Oskar's large male shepherds, while Otto and Oskar slowly ventured into the entrance and further into the tunnel.

After walking for about one-half hour, the found their way blocked by a wall of dirt. The two stood in a large room where signs of construction were strewn about the area. Blocks of wood stood leaning up against a shored-up wall. Looking up, the two observed a ceiling stabilized with beams. A table took up space perpendicular to the end of the tunnel. A few lanterns were resting on the table and electrical wires remained unconnected.

Otto scratched his head. He placed the blueprint of the mine tunnel on the table, and held a lit lantern over the paper.

Meanwhile, Oskar rolled out a blueprint of the camp that Helga had lent him. He turned around several times. "I think we are here." He pointed to an area near the lower numbered barracks. As they began to slowly make their way out, Oskar paused and marked a spot on his blueprint. "I believe we are under the dog pen." He grinned.

"Seems we can take advantage of that, no?" Otto asked.

Oskar nodded. "Don't know how at the moment, but I'll keep it under advisement."

Max fidgeted outside, stamping his feet to keep warm. Oskar's dog barked a warning, and headed for the entrance. Max followed; relieved to see his two friends, he said, "Thank God you're all right. Well?"

"It appears pretty stable," Otto answered as he stroked the dog's head. "Hello again, Wolfgang."

The three covered up the entrance, and then took the short walk back to Oskar's van.

"Did it follow the map?" Max asked once they were inside and on the road.

"It appears so, although we're not experts," Otto said.

"I think it passes right under the dog pen," Oskar added. "But I can always bring a dog back in there, and check."

Max thought for a moment. He was older than and perhaps not as cautious in some ways as the two younger men, but he was concerned about their safety. "I'd like to have an engineer look at it. It may be too dangerous to go any further, and any digging may disturb the soil. Who knows what could happen," he said.

"I agree." Oskar said. "But who?"

"Does Lindeman know anyone? Maybe from the old factory?" Max asked.

"No," Oskar replied. "I trust him with my life, but with Helga working at camp, I don't want to involve her father. Otto?"

He shook his head. "I don't know who I can trust anymore."

"I think I do," Oskar replied. "The prisoners."

France had capitulated, and although Klink was shocked at the turn of events, he was delighted to hear that more prisoner transports would be arriving. The next big group was mainly comprised of British and French airmen. Several truckloads of prisoners fresh from the transit camp rolled into the compound. Klink frowned, and looked at his paperwork. "This can't be all the prisoners. I was expecting twice this many." Annoyed, he turned to the camp engineer. "Sunderman, go into the office, find my missing prisoners, and then report back." Gathering his wits, Klink stepped closer to the trucks and waited impatiently while the men jumped off and stood in formation. As each truck emptied, several of Schultz's guards unloaded the meager belongings of the captured men and set them aside in a pile. Rather than meet with each individually, as per the norm, the Kommandant addressed the sullen and dejected group of captured men.

"For you the war is over. You are all guests of the Luftwaffe." He paused as Corporal Langenscheidt translated Klink's crisp English into French. "I am strict but fair. Follow the rules, and no harm will come to you. Once you are assigned to barracks, you will be given further instructions. Schultz!"

The sergeant approached.

"Blimey, he looks like a large teddy bear," commented an Englishman with a Cockney accent. His quip elicited a few titters.

"Silence!" Klink demanded. "No talking in formation. Schultz, start the processing." Klink strutted away, his countenance and bearing not going unnoticed by the same Englishman and the group of men surrounding him. "Throwback," he whispered to one of his comrades.

"Bet he has one of those crazy old hats left over from the last war," said another. "He's got some medals."

"Wonder if he flew?" asked the original troublemaker. He quickly stopped talking as the portly sergeant of the guard approached the formation.

"Get in line," the sergeant ordered. "Raus." He pointed to a set of tables set up in the compound. "English left. French right. The rest of you, over there." One by one, the POWs had their photos taken, forms filled out, and barracks assigned.

Unfortunately, the nationalities were not evenly distributed, and to everyone's consternation, a small group of French and British found themselves assigned to the same barracks.

"This is against the Geneva Convention. We're supposed to be housed by nationality," said a man as he began unpacking the belongings given to him at the transit camp.

"He's right," added a British sergeant.

"Qu'est-ce qu'il y a? Nous ne sommes pas assez civilisés pour vous?" a tall Frenchman complained.

"Qu'est-ce tu attends?" asked a French corporal, who only came up to his compatriot's shoulder. "Regardes ce qu'ils mangent." (1)

"I don't know what you said, but take it back," replied a British corporal.

"He said something about eating, I think," replied the sergeant.

"Stop arguing, please. And try to get along. It's going to be a long war." No one paid any attention to Schultz, who vainly tried to get the group of men to calm down.

Another British corporal, the Cockney, had watched the proceedings with interest. He sidled up to the large man. "What makes you think it will be a long war? Schultz, isn't it?"

The sergeant turned and faced the Brit. "I've already had experience with the last one," he said sadly. "You don't mind living with these French?" Schultz put his gun down and looked at his clipboard. "You are?"

"Newkirk. Peter Newkirk." He pointed to his name. "Figure we're all in the same boat, right? Got to make a go of it. Besides, I don't plan on staying here very long." He lit a cigarette. "Oh, excuse my manners." He offered one to Schultz, who gratefully took the tobacco and sniffed it with appreciation.

"What do you mean? Oh, no. No escapes. The Kommandant would be very angry, I would get in trouble, and you would get hurt."

Newkirk noticed the gun resting against the wall, but didn't say anything. The argument had stopped; the rest of the men stared, as they also noticed the lax behavior, but they did not take any action as they were either afraid of a trick, or perhaps they were waiting to see what the guard would do.

Sensing the sudden quiet, Schultz smiled. "That's better. Now all you boys behave. Get along. This is a new hut, so I have to send over another barracks chief to explain everything. Then you can pick your own. Stay." He pointed at all the men, went to the door, and left the hut.

A British man on a top bunk quickly jumped down, but he was prevented from grabbing the weapon. "What are you doing? He left his rifle!"

"And how far do you think you're going to go with just one rifle?" asked the short Frenchman in English. "Did you see all the guards? You'll be shot."

"He's right, Levinson. Don't be a martyr." The British sergeant, Anthony Collins, walked over to the window and looked out.

Meanwhile, Newkirk opened the door. Spying Schultz heading towards the front of the compound, the corporal strolled out of the door, and trotted up to the sergeant. "Hey, Schultz."

The sergeant turned around. In shock, he reached for his rifle, which wasn't there.

"You left something in our hut."

Without a word, Schultz followed Newkirk back to the barracks, and retrieved his rifle. He quickly gave the men a look and left the building.

"He's an interesting sort, isn't he?" Newkirk commented, as he placed several items on the table in the middle of the room. "Left some things behind."

The men gathered around the table. Newkirk had placed a sandwich, a chocolate bar, and several bullets in the center. He pocketed the bullets, and then grabbing a knife that had somehow not been confiscated, from his pocket, he cut the sandwich into eight pieces, and broke the chocolate into eight pieces as well.

The excitement calmed down the group, and after sharing the food, they began choosing bunks and footlockers.

Several minutes later, Sergeant Chernetsky entered the hut. He introduced himself in both English and French. "Looks like you're all settled," he said after he had warned the men about the towers, the fence, the guards, and explained how things would work.

"Any tunnels started?" Asked the little Frenchman, whose name was LeBeau.

"No." the sergeant replied emphatically.

"No, you won't say until we're trusted, or no, there aren't any escape plans in the works."

"LeBeau, escaping is serious business," the Polish sergeant replied. "Several men have slipped out but were quickly caught. Unless you speak fluent German, have clothes, identification papers, exact knowledge of geography and contacts to get you off the continent, I don't recommend it. I'm afraid we're here for the duration," he said in all seriousness.

"What's with the Sergeant of the Guard?" asked one of the British.

Chernetsky chuckled. "Schultz doesn't want anyone to get hurt, especially himself."

"He left his gun in here," Newkirk informed him.

"Does it constantly. Just give it back. It's not loaded. Don't get him into trouble. He's a decent man for a German," Chernetsky stated.

"And the Kommandant?" asked the tall Frenchman.

"He's a veteran of the Great War. So far, he's been humane. But he'll send someone to the cooler at the drop of a hat. He's probably better than other Kommandants. That's all. You'll need to choose a barracks leader. Let me know at mess who you've picked. I'll speak to the MOC and see about switching men around, eventually. We've got Belgian and Norwegians together in barracks 5 and they don't understand each other. Questions?"

"Yeah. How did I end up in a Luft Stalag?" asked a private, who up to this point had been quiet.

"You're not in the RAF?"

"Nope. Got caught inland."

"Well, you're not the first. It's an odd story, but this is supposed to be Luft Stalag 6, not 13. They mixed up the numbers. You probably were being sent to the other Hammelburg in Bavaria. That's Stalag 13. And Hammelburg with two m's. Klink is trying to get this fixed, but so far, nothing's been done. Don't know why. But from what I know, you're better off staying here. That camp isn't ready yet, anyway. You'd probably still be in transit or riding the rails. The guard that translated-Corporal Langenscheidt. He was sent here by mistake. Klink kept him."

"Dangerous?" asked LeBeau.

"Not so far," Chernetsky replied. "But remember, even if they seem friendly, they're Germans. Don't trust any of them. Oh, and fair warning. It may take a long time to get mail. We haven't seen any at all."

The men unanimously chose Newkirk to be the spokesperson for the barracks. Despite his calm demeanor during the first few hours of imprisonment, inside, he was a different person. Newkirk was still not over the shock of being shot down and captured. He was worried about his relatives back home, and his time in captivity before being sent to this camp had not been pleasant. Although he appeared cocky, he admitted to himself he was scared. This was not the first time he had been imprisoned, but he had turned over a new leaf and with the start of the war, he turned his talents and energy into doing his part. Now, he was in prison again and the only thing he could think of was how to get out. Fortunately, he had kept his German language skills a secret from his captors. For now, he decided against mentioning it to his fellow prisoners, as well.

LeBeau, the short Frenchman with a passion for food, was also mulling over ways to escape. He spoke a bit of German, which was an advantage. Like his fellow French POWs, he was devastated by the defeat of his beloved country, and even more ashamed of the traitorous leaders who had set up a collaborative regime in Vichy. He was willing to kill them with his bare hands if necessary. As he trudged over to the mess hall for what promised to be an unappetizing meal, he glanced over at the portly Schultz. It appeared the missing sandwich was replaced with a plate of potatoes and a bit of meat. The guard finished the plate, and then made a face that told LeBeau that the meal, while filling, was not tasty. He filed that information away for later use. As he and his fellow barracks mates walked, they gave the dog pen a wide berth. Although both LeBeau and another French POW noticed that the dogs in the pen ignored the group of prisoners, they assumed it was because they were a distance away and the dogs were on the other side of the fence. They forgot about the incident by the time they got to the mess hall. What they did notice, and did not forget, were small mounds of fresh dirt scattered near the walls of several buildings.

Klink spent another several hours trying to untangle the bureaucratic mess. He had recently received a score of enlisted ground troops obviously meant for the yet unopened Bavarian camp, and several more privates had arrived with the group of POWs sent over that day. Three truckloads of captured airmen meant for his camp were in parts unknown, and incommunicado, and the tunnel-hunting specialists known as ferrets, he had requested the previous month had, as he feared, been sent to the other Hammelburg. He was now speaking with that camp-again.

"Klink here, from Luft Stalag…Yes, that Luft Stalag. No, we haven't been able to get the maps reprinted. Why don't you try? Yes, that is an insult, and you have better things to do. But we're open and in operation.

"You expect to be ready this summer. Delightful. Now, I am missing three truckloads of men. I have the paperwork, but no POWs. And I believe I have some of your enlisted.

"I can keep your enlisted? Well, we are Luftwaffe not Wehrmacht. No I don't know where I can send them, but I can check if one of the other camps in the area can take them. And my missing airmen? If you see them, you'll return them? That's fine, but where are they now? I have paperwork to send to Berlin and the Red Cross. You don't know and don't care. I understand. Yes, you are going to be very large. I'll take it up with the railroad as you suggest. Thank you. Oh, before I leave, one more thing. Do you have the ferrets I ordered?

"Ferrets? They're little animals…No, not the little animals. The specialists that hunt for escape tunnels. Yes! Those. You don't have them. You've never heard of them? But surely you had a representative at the conference? Yes, I understand. Put in another requisition. Yes, I haven't had any escapes. That is true, so why would I need the ferrets?"

Klink rubbed his head in frustration.

"Never mind. I'll contact headquarters. Good luck with your camp." Klink slammed down the phone, and gulped down the liquid in the shot glass he had thoughtfully set out beforehand. He looked up at Helga, who sympathetically gave her boss a smile.

"Would you like some more, Kommandant?"

"No," Klink moaned.

"A shoulder rub, perhaps?"

"That would be wonderful. Thank you." Klink visibly relaxed as Helga's deft fingers began to remove some of the knots. "What did I do to deserve this?"

"I don't know, Kommandant. But it's not your fault. You didn't make the mistake. And you tried to rectify the error."

"Not hard enough, obviously. But, yes. I did try. Each time this happens, I call Berlin, and they do nothing. I can't fix all the records in all of Germany and the occupied countries. And I can't fix all those maps. Can you imagine how many are out there?"

"No, sir." Helga continued the massage, working her way up to Klink's temples.

He sighed and leaned back in the chair. "What would I do without you?"

Well, without me, I suppose the orders for the ferrets had a better chance of being sent to the correct department, Helga thought with a smile. "It's an honor to be your secretary, Kommandant." And, as Helga realized, it was an honor. She actually liked Klink, even if she did her small part to undermine the war effort. She enjoyed her work; she excelled at it, and she was treated with respect. With that thought in mind, Helga silently berated herself. Perhaps misdirecting the requisition for the ferrets was going too far, she decided. Though, with the numbering and naming error, the mistake could have easily happened without her intervention. She decided to be more careful in the future. After all, it would help no one if Klink was replaced. The next Kommandant could be much worse. She decided a visit with Oskar was in order. "Feel better?"

"Yes. As a matter of fact, I do." Klink leaned forward and clasped his hands. "Once this other camp opens, I believe there will be even more problems, which is horrible to contemplate." He shuddered. "I may need to re-address this. Perhaps go up to Berlin. That's all for now, my dear. I need to think."

Helga quietly shut the door behind her and went back to work. She had prisoner records to check over and file. Meanwhile, Klink thought about his conundrum. The camp was running smoothly, so perhaps it was again time to figure out how to fix the mess he was in, before the mess fixed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) translation. What's the matter? We're not civilized enough for you?
> 
> What do you expect? Look at what they eat?


	7. Helga's Hijinks and Klink's Bad Day in Berlin

"What's in a Name?"

Chapter 7

Helga's Hijinks and Klink's Bad Day in Berlin

"I need to make contact with one of the prisoners," Oskar said to Helga as he, along with Max and the secretary, enjoyed a cup of tea with a batch of Greta's homemade pastry. Despite the war, food and consumer goods were still plentiful. Hamelburg, being near an agricultural area, was a nice spot to be, although some residents were becoming concerned that their proximity to Düsseldorf and the industrial buildings on the outskirts of their hamlet was inviting danger.

Helga raised her eyebrows. "That's going to be difficult, "she replied. "Contractors are carefully watched." She thought for a moment. "May I ask why?"

Oskar glanced at Max, who nodded. "We explored the mine entrance," Oskar explained. "We believe the tunnel is viable, although we'd like an expert to look at it. An engineer or someone familiar with mining. And…" he paused. "Part of the tunnel is under the dog pen."

Helga was intrigued. "I don't understand how that helps," she said.

Max shrugged. "Don't know yet. But that's the last place the guards would look for the tunnel entrance."

"About that." Helga looked down at her hands, which were clasped around one of Greta's fine bone china teacups.

"Go on," Oskar prodded.

"Have you heard of the term ferrets?"

Max smiled. "Those little animals?"

"No. The army has specially trained soldiers that check for signs of tunneling," Helga explained.

"I see. That could put a damper on our plans," Max said.

"Maybe not." Helga smiled. "The Kommandant's request never made it to headquarters, and we never got the guards assigned."

"Let me guess. They were sent to the other camp," Max chuckled.

"No." Helga's voice got quieter, as if she was frightened of being overheard. "I sort of lost the order."

"You what?" Oskar cried.

"I took advantage of the mix-up," replied the secretary. "Who knows?" she shrugged her shoulders. "It may have happened anyway."

"Do you know how dangerous that is?"

"Yes," Helga answered. "I do. After I got away with stealing the page from the blueprints, I guess I got a bit overconfident. But then once I realized what I did, I became nervous and had to tell you. That's one reason why I asked for this meeting. But no one found out. And I think the Kommandant is too busy to resend the order. He just asked Stalag 13 to send them back when they get there." She let out a small laugh. "Of course, Stalag 13 is never cooperative. If the ferrets do end up there, we won't see them."

Max was appalled by Helga's actions. "Please don't do anything else to jeopardize your job, and your life. No more direct actions. Think of your family."

"We'll see," Helga replied. It was true that she was initially quite frightened, but now that there appeared to be no fallout, she had calmed down. "I think I can help you. The man of confidence comes into the office on a regular basis. The next time he comes in, I can make some discreet inquiries. I can also check the POW cards to see if some come from mining towns."

Oskar nodded. "That's a good plan."

"That still doesn't solve the problem of speaking with one of them directly," Max reminded everyone.

The three conspirators, later joined by Greta, sat and mulled over the problem of how to make contact.

"I know one thing, Oskar said. "We'll need a diversion."

HhHhH

Klink was not known as a decision maker. He often hemmed and hawed over minor details. For bigger, more important issues, the pros and cons often found their way onto a pad of paper. He would pace, and stare at the new picture of the Führer that hung on his wall. It had recently come from Berlin, and surprisingly it somehow had not been misdirected. On occasion, he would ask himself, what would Hitler do, and then look at the wall expecting an answer. Paranoia, brought on by years of experience, was the essence of the problem. The other was a long-buried and unrecognized lack of self-esteem. After all, most of his classmates had already made general.

So, thoughts of going to Berlin to address the misnaming problem directly were truly frightening. On one hand, the issue was a concern. Misdirected personnel, such as guards and the ferrets, could not be taken lightly. Missing prisoners was even worse. Colleagues at other camps scoffed at Klink's concern. "Who needs more mouths to feed?" They asked with a laugh and a knowing look. But to Klink, more POW's meant more prestige. They were been purposely sent to his camp, not another Luft Stalag. And this position was all he had.

On the other hand, reminding Berlin of the issue was opening up a whole new can of worms. Being noticed was not the best way to stay alive. Being known as a habitual complainer was definitely not healthy. Klink was walking a fine line.

The larger Stalag 13 would be fully operational within months. However, Klink was receiving no respect, and he was not getting anywhere with phone calls.

"What is one to do?" Klink asked the photo. No answer was forthcoming. He walked over to the wall behind his desk and stared at the map of his domain. Many buildings were shown, although few, at this point, were occupied. Never mind the missing ferrets. Klink decided he would train his own guards to look for hidden tunnels. He wanted more prisoners.

"Helga," he announced a few minutes later. "I am going to Berlin."

"Yes, Kommandant. Do you wish me to call ahead and make an appointment?"

Klink thought for a moment, and afraid he would be ignored, decided against it. "No, thank you. I'll speak to someone once I get there. Hopefully, General Burkhalter will be available. After all, he assigned me to this camp. The least he could do is speak with me."

And so, as Sergeant Schultz helped Klink to pack, Helga thought about this latest news. Recalling that General Burkhalter was a colonel when he appointed Klink as Kommandant, she looked up the latest information she had available on the officer, as well as a list of pertinent personnel changes.. Burkhalter was also a member of Hitler's staff, although he was not very high up on the ladder. There was no other information available. She set aside a file for Klink. "What will you be asking Berlin for?" She asked. "Do you think they can fix our problem?"

"Well, Helga. I think it will be harder for them to turn me down in person, face to face. It's not the missing ferrets that are the problem."

At that word, Helga's stomach dropped.

"It's my guards and prisoners."

Helga's stomach rose.

"I can train the ferrets. How hard can that be? I have a manual," Klink said.

"Perhaps the dogs may be able to detect tunnels, Kommandant."

Klink looked up. "You think so? I wasn't aware."

"Oh, yes. After all, their sense of smell is so much better than humans. And, after all, they bury things and have to find them again. Doesn't it make sense that they'd find loose dirt?" Helga was amazed at her new found capacity to spin a tale. "If you wish, I can ask the dog handler the next time he comes into the office. Perhaps he can look into that for you."

Klink clapped his hands. "Splendid, Helga. Have him speak with the officer in charge while I'm gone."

Realizing that this new idea of hers might get Oskar away from his van and into the compound, Helga smiled as she watched Klink leave the office.

HhHhH

Helga was all business when Oskar entered the outer office the next morning.

"You need another signature?" Oskar asked Helga in the gruff tone he used for his visits to the camp.

"No, Dr. Schnitzer. The Kommandant has another task for you, if you and your dogs are up for it. Play along," Helga whispered.

Oskar nodded. "Yes."

"We never received the specially trained guards that are assigned to the task of discovering tunnels. Rather than wait, or train other guards, the Kommandant wonders if the dogs may be able to detect any tunnels. You may need to take them around the compound and show the guards, of course. Is this possible?"

"I see." Oskar did see. This was a way for him to get away from his van and the dog pen, and perhaps get near a prisoner. "I have not trained the dogs for this service, although it is possible they can learn. No guarantees."

"Wonderful," Helga said. "You will need to speak to Captain Sunderman. He is in charge while the Kommandant is away. He is expecting you."

"I know I shall have to first take the dogs out into the compound without the guards," Oskar added as he waited by the inner office door. "Until they are comfortable with their task."

"I'm sure that is understood," Helga said. She tapped on the door and introduced the veterinarian.

HhHhH

It took a better part of the day for Klink to arrive in Berlin. He was too low on the totem pole, as Americans said in the movies, to merit a plane, but trains were plentiful. He was delayed several times for trains carrying troops and supplies west, and others-prisoners,he supposed-east.

Upon arrival, he checked into a hotel for the evening. Bright and early the next morning, Klink made his way to Luftwaffe headquarters. He had been there before, but the large and imposing building never failed to make him uncomfortable. Upon arriving at the offices where POW policy was set, Klink sat as officers and enlisted men scurried back and forth, while a bevy of attractive young ladies in uniform pounded out paperwork on their typewriters.

"Sorry to make you wait so long, Kommandant," said the eager young leutnant seated at the entrance. "You are from a camp in Hammelburg?"

"Yes." Klink leaned over. "But it's with one m. Near Düsseldorf."

The aide removed a binder from a shelf behind him and pored through its contents. "I don't see it here."

"That's impossible. We've received pay packets and deliveries. Well, not all deliveries. That's the issue. That's why I'm here."

The aide stared blankly back at the Kommandant. "Wait here, sir." A few moments later, the aide returned with a major, who took the aide's seat.

"Your camp appears to be missing," he said.

"That's what I've been trying to explain. Try looking in the sixth district," Klink advised.

A few moments later, the major stopped at a page. "Aha. Here we are. Hamelburg with one m. I didn't know there was another Hammelburg. Did you, Leutnant?"

"No, sir."

"Yes, that's wonderful." Klink said. "But everywhere else, we're known as Luft Stalag 13!"

"That is impossible, sir. As you indicated, this is District six. Says so right here. No one would assign the number 13 to a camp in Hamelburg. There is already a 13 in Hammelburg. The one with 2 m's."

"That is correct, Major!" Klink, who was trying to hold onto his patience, tightly grasped the edge of the desk. "But someone did assign the number 13 to our camp. Look at these maps I brought. A Oberst, Wolfram Gratz, was the one who brought this issue to my attention." Klink passed over official paperwork left by Gratz at their first meeting. "And here are copies of letters I've sent requesting assistance with the confusion." He handed these over to the major, who took a long look at the evidence in front of him.

"Why didn't you just change the sign? Or get new stationery?" The major sat back, as if that was the simplest and obvious solution to the problem. Hands clasped, he waited.

"First of all, I tried. The local printing plant was too busy with Herr Goebbel's work, and they gave me an outrageously overpriced estimate. Besides, that is just window dressing. This is affecting the running of the camp," Klink stated.

"How so?" asked the major, as the leutnant looked on.

"Allied prisoners on their way to my camp were sent goodness knows where. My ferrets and some supplies have been sent to the other camp. I've not received a contingent of guards, but I've received enlisted Allied ground troops."

"So you need ferrets? Your camp is a revolving door? I assume there are mass escapes, tunnels, and massive displays of disobedience."

"No, not exactly, although prisoner morale is going down due to lack of mail," Klink replied. "In fact," he said proudly. "We have not had one successful escape!"

"Congratulations. Anyway, mail takes time. So what seems to be the problem?" asked the major.

"I…I,"Klink sputtered. "Well, the Polish prisoners have been there for quite a while. They should have received some mail, don't you agree? But listen, Major. This is the problem. One day an order will be issued and I will not receive that order. It will go to the other camp, who will not relay that order, and then someone's head will be on the block when Berlin finds out. And that someone will be me." Klink was beginning to sweat.

"This is a fiasco, I will admit. But it's out of my hands. Reissuing the maps and notifying the Red Cross is a tremendous job. The best I can do is to notify the new commander of that sector of the situation and pass the misnaming problem up the line."

"Thank you," Klink said. "Who is the new commander?"

"General Burkhalter. Didn't you get the notification?"

Klink shook his head. "No. It probably got lost. General Burkhalter gave me this position. I'll look forward to finally meeting him personally." And I hope he forgives me for not sending him a congratulatory letter.

"Oh, that's truly unfortunate," said the major. This Klink is in trouble now. "Unfortunately, General Burkhalter is indisposed at the moment. As I said, I can notify him of your concern. I'm sure he will either contact you by phone or he will eventually get over to your sector to conduct an inspection. I don't know how long he will be unavailable."

Klink sighed. "Then I shall return to my camp. Thank you." Klink, although impressed by the courtesy of the two officers, was disappointed. He turned on his heels and walked out.

"Did he say he had Polish prisoners?" the major asked the leutnant.

"I believe so, sir."

"I guess he didn't get the memo." The major straightened the copies of paperwork Klink had left with him, and clipped them together.

"What should we do?"

The Luftwaffe major had fought in the previous war and still retained some modicum of decency towards his fellow airmen. He felt for the Polish airmen being removed from POW camps. They were being sent to labor camps, while those refusing their new role were transferred to concentration camps. "As I said, we'll notify General Burkhalter about the misnaming issue, and that's it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Luftwaffe headquarters in Berlin was originally known as the Reichs' Air Transport Ministry. It is one of the few buildings to survive relatively intact and is now the German tax office. "When it was completed in 1936, it was the largest office building in Europe. The building went on to be used by the Soviets and then the East Germans. Today, without the eagles and swastikas, it is used as the German tax office." Information from various sources and Headquarters of the New Luftwaffe / murray-sager / 2qv6230.
> 
> Polish prisoners: from the website of the ICRC. www. icrc eng / resources / documents / misc / (international committee of the Red Cross)
> 
> "In September 1939, Poland was invaded by German and Soviet troops.
> 
> A large proportion of the Polish army was captured: around 400,000 men by the German forces and over 200,000 by Soviet troops. Until February 1940, the German authorities gave the ICRC lists of the Polish prisoners of war they held, but after that date they stopped.
> 
> In 1943, they again began to send these lists, but now only officers were mentioned. What had happened was that most of the Polish soldiers who became prisoners of war were turned into 'civilian workers' by the German authorities. They were thus - in defiance of the 1929 Convention relative to the treatment of prisoners of war - deprived of their prisoner-of-war status and of the protection this should have afforded them.
> 
> Prisoners of war who refused to become 'civilian workers' were mostly sent to concentration camps. In this way, the ICRC lost track of a large number of them.
> 
> At no time during the war did the USSR give the ICRC lists of Polish prisoners. When, in April 1943, the massacre of over 5,000 Polish officers at Katyn was discovered, the USSR refused to allow the ICRC to take part in an international investigation."
> 
> I'm sure there was some form of this order issued to all the POW camps, but I have not been able to find it.
> 
> .


	8. Who's Leading Whom?

What's in a Name

Chapter 8

Who's Leading Whom?

Klink left Berlin in a bad mood, but his uneasiness lifted as soon as he drove through the gates of his prison camp. It was a beautiful day, and he beamed as he observed his charges, both the guards and the prisoners, behaving as they should.

Some prisoners were milling around the compound in small groups, while others stood by their huts, smoking, chatting or doing laundry. The guards were alert. They kept their distance, while at the same time, keeping an eye out for any trouble.

To Klink's delight, he spied the dog handler, Oskar Schnitzer, near the newly built recreation hall. The veterinarian was walking around the compound with one of his shepherds. Klink stopped the car and got out. As one of his guards hopped in to drive the staff car to the motor pool, Klink walked over to Schnitzer.

The dog looked up, bared his teeth, and growled.

Startled, Klink hopped back a few feet. "Training your dog to look for tunnels?" the Kommandant asked.

Schnitzer looked up. "That's what I was told to do," he replied in the gruff voice he reserved for dealings with camp staff and authorities in town. He bent down and whispered something to the dog, and then continued walking along the perimeter of the building. Suddenly, the dog sat.

Klink hurried over. "Did he find something?"

"Yes." Oskar stroked the shepherd's massive head, and gave the dog a treat. "This is a tunnel the guards dug for training purposes. I tried it first at my farm, and the tests were a success."

"Wonderful!" Klink gingerly stepped towards the tunnel. "How deep is this?"

"About eight feet," Oskar answered. "Watch where you walk, Kommandant."

"So the guards can take this dog themselves and conduct searches for tunnels." Klink nodded in appreciation.

"Well, we can try. There's another fake tunnel in another area of camp."

"Schuulllltz!" Klink snapped his fingers, and his sergeant of the guard came over, huffing and puffing with exertion.

"Yes, Kommandant. Did you have a nice trip?"

"No. But never mind that. Go with Schnitzer, and find that tunnel."

"Me, Kommandant? Would it not be better to get a guard that walks with the dogs?"

"What? Are you afraid of the animal, Schultz?" Klink answered.

"Well, technically..." The dog growled, and now Schultz jumped back.

"Get another guard, Schultz," Klink ordered.

Within a few minutes, Schnitzer, accompanied by a perimeter guard, walked over to the other side of the compound. Klink, Schultz, and a few members of Klink's staff cautiously followed.

This activity did not go unnoticed by the prisoners. As the bevy of Germans moved, a nervous group of multinational airmen slyly followed the route. They had witnessed guards digging the holes earlier that day, and were anticipating an upcoming disaster.

The dog was still being led by Schnitzer. As he headed towards Barracks 3, the POW's tensed and held their breath. The dog walked right over the spot where their shallow tunnel hit the compound, but to their surprise and relief, the shepherd paid no attention.

As the line of Germans left the area, Newkirk turned to LeBeau. "Now what was that all about?"

"I told you there's something going on with those dogs," LeBeau insisted. "And the handler."

"But he's looking for tunnels. He's working with the Krauts," another man, Erskine, remarked.

"LeBeau is correct," said Hemsworth, a British corporal who arrived at camp a bit before Newkirk and LeBeau. "One of the Polish guys from across camp told me the dogs are friendly towards the prisoners. He stuck his hand through the fence, gave one of the dogs a treat and a pat, and came back with all his digits attached."

There was, of course, something going on with the dogs, and in particular, the dog now on the end of Corporal Geisel's leash. Friedrich, unfortunately, had an olfactory problem. Although he could appear menacing on cue and could pick up Oskar's signals-a slight tug, a nod, and he would sit on command-detecting a tunnel by smell or feel was too much for the poor shepherd. He was the perfect fit for Luft Stalag 13's canine ferret squad.

As Geisel walked around the mess tent, where the second fake tunnel lay, Schnitzer gazed over the compound. He noticed a group of prisoners paying attention to the proceedings. Among them were one of the Polish prisoners; a sergeant who had been at the camp for quite some time. There were several other prisoners he recognized. Two, a British corporal and a French corporal, were newcomers. Schnitzer spoke English, and considered somehow engaging the Brit.

"He's not finding the tunnel," Geisel complained. "It's right under him."

"Keep trying," Klink ordered.

Thinking this might be the diversion he was waiting for, Schnitzer said, "I might be distracting the dog. I'll move away, out of his sight. Then see what happens."

"Go ahead." Klink waved.

Schnitzer stepped back and slowly made his way towards the group of prisoners. Lest he raise any suspicion, he decided to stop about ten feet away.

"Looks like the dog is a failure," Chernetsky said happily.

Fortunately, no one was watching right that second, but that could change at any moment. Schnitzer was still somewhat wary of approaching a prisoner directly, but he was prepared with a plan B. Reaching into his pocket, he removed a handkerchief, while as planned, a piece of folded paper floated down to the ground. Instead of picking up the paper, the vet covered it slightly with a bit of dirt, then stared right at the prisoners. He looked down at the ground and back up at them, then walked away.

It was Newkirk that took action. Making sure that the guards weren't watching, he sidled over to the spot where the paper had dropped, and pulled a cigarette out of his pocket. Dropping a match, he bent down to pick it up, grabbed the paper as well, and walked back to his group.

Meanwhile, Schnitzer hurried over to the forlorn group of camp personnel. He shook his head.

"It didn't work. What happened?" Klink asked.

"Let me try." Oskar took the leash and walked Friedrich back and forth. The dog sniffed the ground and happily wagged his tail in delight as he walked with his master. Suddenly, the dog sat.

"There you go. He found the spot," Oskar said.

"Amazing." Klink rubbed his chin.

"Maybe it's the dog handler," Schultz reluctantly grumbled. Although he believed in giving credit where credit was due, Schultz wasn't fond of Schnitzer. Schultz was afraid of the dogs, and thought the veterinarian was overly grumpy.

"Sometimes the dogs respond better to their own trainer. I'd be willing to check for tunnels on a regular basis," Oskar told Klink. "It will only be a slight increase in my fee."

Klink nodded. "You have a deal." The Kommandant, having never met a ferret-a tunnel expert, not the furry animal-actually had no idea how often to check for escape routes. For now, he figured he'd start with a general sweep of the camp, and then have the vet check on an irregular schedule. After all, the Kommandant's job was to keep the prisoners guessing.

The prisoners' attention was no longer on the tunnel-finding expedition. Instead, they returned to Newkirk's barracks, and waited impatiently for Newkirk to expose the paper the dog handler had obviously dropped on purpose.

"It's in German," Newkirk stated.

"Well, what does it say?" Erskine asked.

"Changing dogs on Wednesday at 10 am."

"So?"

Newkirk scratched his head. "The bloke deliberately dropped that paper so we would see it and pick it up. He wants to meet with one of us."

LeBeau nodded. "I agree."

"All he says is that he's changing those dogs in two days. Probably a reminder for himself," countered Erskine. "Plus it's in German. That's taking a chance. What if we couldn't translate it?"

"A day of the week? Even you know that, and how to count to ten. No, I know a sleight of hand trick when I see it," Newkirk countered. "Besides, why would he need a reminder. He changes the dogs every Wednesday at 10."

Erskine laughed. "You're right. We need to get someone over to his truck."

"I'll go," LeBeau stated. "I'm not afraid of Schnitzer or the dogs."

"Besides," Newkirk chuckled. "You're less likely to be seen, mate. No offense."

"None taken, this time."

"I think we should clear this with Maddock," Chernetsky said. The group was in total agreement and went off to find the British MOC.

Helga had promised to sort through prisoner records to find someone familiar with mining or engineering. There were a lot of records to go through, but she methodically tackled the task, checking hometowns listed on the information gathered when men were first assigned to camp. One Englishman's information caught her eye. Newcastle on Tyne. Where did she hear that name? There was a saying one of her old teachers had used, but she couldn't recall the full idiom. However, she was sure it had something to do with coal. As she told Oskar and Max, she decided to strike up a conversation with Sergeant Maddock the next time he came into the office. Unfortunately, she didn't know when that would be.

She didn't have long to wait.

Sergeant Schultz was the first to hurry through the office door, then came the Kommandant, and right on his heels, was a clearly upset Sergeant Maddock.

Helga had no time to greet her boss as the sergeant was talking up a storm.

"I strongly protest the digging of fake tunnels, and the use of the guard dogs to find these tunnels, Kommandant. My men are not filling in tunnels they didn't dig."

"That wasn't a request, Sergeant," Klink replied. "Hello, Helga."

"How was your trip, Kommandant?" Helga sidestepped Schultz, who was trying to calm the prisoners' representative.

"Fruitless. Although we may soon expect a visit from General Burkhalter. And Schnitzer will be using his dogs to search for tunnels. I'll need you to come into the office so I can dictate an addendum to his contract." Klink looked up at the sergeant. Perhaps his order was a bit nonsensical, but his guards were extremely busy. And after all, they had dug the tunnels, which was the hardest part of the job.

"Maddock, if you bring Schultz a work crew to fill in the tunnels, under strict supervision, of course, I'll provide an extra hour of electricity for a week."

Maddock frowned, and then nodded. "You have a deal, sir."

"I'll be right with you, Kommandant," Helga said as Klink entered his office. "I have to get my book and I'll pull the original contract. Sergeant Maddock, may I ask you a question?" She asked as she got up from behind the desk.

"Yes, ma'am."

"A friend of mine and I were reminiscing about an old teacher who often used a saying. Something about Newcastle? But we couldn't remember what it meant or the exact wording."

"Oh, you must be thinking of 'Taking coal to Newcastle.' It means a foolhardy or useless action, you see. Because it's a big coal-mining location. Kind of like selling snow to an Eskimo."

"That's it! Thank you so much." Helga flashed a smile at Maddock as she moved towards the filing cabinet.

The sergeant beamed back.

"You're welcome."

"Have you ever been to Newcastle, Sergeant?"

"No. But we have a man here from Newcastle. Bellows in Barracks 4."

"Oh. Was he a coal miner then?"

"From a long line, I'm told."

"Come on, Maddock. We need to get those tunnels filled in. And Fraulein Helga and the prisoners are not supposed to have contact."

"Don't worry, Sergeant Schultz." Helga patted the portly guard on the shoulders. "Just a friendly conversation. I don't usually get to speak to the prisoners, you know. And it's not polite to ignore Sergeant Maddock is it? After all, he's here at least a few times a week." Helga pouted.

Schultz's face softened. "No, you are right, that isn't polite. They are mainly good boys. As long as you are in the office, a few friendly words wouldn't hurt."

"Thanks, Schultz!" Maddock patted the guard on the back. "You're not half-bad for a guard."

"You're welcome."

While walking back to his hut, Maddock thought about his odd conversation with Helga. Until today, they had only exchanged cursory greetings. The sergeant now felt a bit stupid for mentioning Bellows. He decided to discuss the conversation with his trusted staff. Hopefully, no damage was done, but he vowed to be more careful in future dealings with the Kommandant's secretary.


	9. Monkey Business and a Revelation

"What's in a Name"

Chapter 9

Monkey Business and a Revelation

The prisoners' spokesman, Sergeant John Maddock, was on his way to corral his staff to discuss his conversation with Helga, when he was stopped by a group of prisoners hoping to speak with him about the dog handler's note.

"Chernetsky." He greeted the Polish prisoner. "Need to talk to you and the rest of the staff." He nodded at Newkirk, LeBeau and the other men accompanying them.

"We need to talk to you," Chernetsky replied.

"All right. You go first."

"Someplace safe," Newkirk requested.

"Let's head over to my barracks."

They walked silently over to Barracks two, one of two huts that included a separate room, which Maddock shared with Sergeant Tim Graves. Graves assisted Maddock with paperwork and work schedules. Chernetsky, whose language skills rivaled Langenscheidt's, represented the large contingent of Polish prisoners. He had been the MOC before the arrival of the other Europeans, but, as he preferred to stay under the radar, he handed the reins over to Maddock upon the Brit's arrival.

The hut was empty, and the group gathered around the small table in the middle of the common room.

"What's up?" Maddock asked.

"This was deliberately dropped by the dog handler, where we would find it." Newkirk handed the MOC the note. "Louis volunteered to go. Oh, it says when he's coming in again to change the dogs."

Maddock looked at LeBeau.

"You sure this was deliberate?"

"Oui. I believe the dogs have been trained to be friendly to the prisoners. Besides, we watched the tunnel detecting display. Something was definitely off about the whole thing."

Maddock stroked his chin. "Yeah, I've had that conversation before. But it's taking a chance." He looked at Chernetsky and Hemsworth.

"I think it's worth a shot, John," Hemsworth stated. "I saw him drop the note. And why would he need a reminder for himself? That's his usual schedule."

Maddock nodded. "Let's do it."

"I'll need a diversion," LeBeau pointed out.

"Leave that to us," Maddock answered. "Just be ready." He sighed. "I might as well tell you something odd happened in the office. I'm not happy about it, but I need your take. I...I...gave out information. Something I shouldn't have."

"To Klink?" Chernetsky asked in a shocked voice.

"No. His secretary." Maddock described the conversation. "Honestly, I'll resign if necessary. I really blew it."

"Let's not be hasty, John. First, it may have been a perfectly innocent conversation. And besides, you have a good rapport with Klink. Amazing, considering you haven't been here that long. Besides, resigning might open up a can of slugs."

The Brits smiled at the Polish sergeant's misnomer.

"I think you mean can of worms." Newkirk gave Chernetsky a friendly poke.

"Well, I think we should give Bellows a fair warning," Chernetsky said.

"I'll talk with him." Maddock began rapping his knuckles on the table. "LeBeau, after you get a feeling for what Schnitzer wants, and if you think you can trust him, mention the secretary. Get his reaction. If it looks like he's with us, let him know she may have acquired some information from me."

"Of course."

Most of the men left the hut and dispersed, leaving Maddock and Chernetsky to discuss how to create a suitable diversion.

Two days later, Oskar pulled into the camp as usual, but instead of driving up to the dog pen, he parked right outside the Kommandanteur, and popped inside.

"Dr. Schnitzer, do you need to see the Kommandant?" Helga asked. "He's in his quarters, but I can call for him."

"No. I dropped a favorite pen on Monday. Did anyone turn it in?"

"No." Helga looked at the vet quizzically. "Something up?" she whispered.

"We'll see," he replied. "I'm hoping to make contact."

Helga nodded, then held up a finger. She removed a piece of paper from her pad, and scratched out a name and a few words. Folding it, she handed it to Schnitzer, who put it in his pocket.

The compound was full of prisoners as Schnitzer drove the van over to the dog pen. This morning, he parked it parallel to the pen, a bit closer to the fence than normal. He put the vehicle in park and shut off the engine; then removed the paper, unfolded it, and glanced at the name. After hiding it again, he left the van and opened the gate. Going to the back of the van, he opened the doors, brought out each dog one at a time, and placed the animals into the pen. Once three were inside, he chose three to remove, and one-by-one, he placed them in the back of the van. After closing the doors, he stopped to light a cigarette, and began to scan the compound. He noticed that groups of prisoners had been evenly dispersed around the grounds, but they were now edging closer together.

As this was taking place, LeBeau, his heart beating so rapidly he thought it would jump out of his chest, slowly moved alongside the buildings, getting closer and closer to the dog pen.

Suddenly, as a football went flying, a fight broke out near the front gates. This was an unusual circumstance at Luft Stalag 13, and it attracted the attention of most of the guards, who hurried over to break up the mêlée.

Hearing the commotion through her open office window, Helga opened the door, and hurried outside to the porch. Thankfully, the guard had not left his post, but to her relief, his gaze was fixed on the large group of prisoners writhing around in the dirt. She turned her body slightly and fixed her attention towards the dog pen.

Klink, hearing the commotion from his quarters, threw on his cap and hurried outside. "What is the meaning of this?" he could be heard screaming as he approached.

With the guards' attention elsewhere, LeBeau made his move. He sprinted across the few remaining meters, and quickly found himself between the van and the fence.

Without saying a word, Schnitzer opened up the back and motioned for LeBeau to hop in, quickly closing the doors as soon as the Frenchman was safely inside.

LeBeau was a courageous individual, but he had to admit he was terrified. Was this a trap? Would the dogs have him for brunch? This was despite his gut feeling that the dogs were friendly and the vet was on their side.

His fear disappeared, as instead of taking bites out of his face and limbs, LeBeau received a good face wash. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry, as the three shepherds' tails wagged furiously as they fought to lick off his remaining facial hair. The van lurched forward and LeBeau realized he was going for a ride.

As Oskar's van left the compound, the fight wound down. Maddock had to leave his concern for LeBeau aside, as he and the other conspirators hurried over to the area of the compound where the staged fight took place. Looks like when we need a diversion, the rest of the camp is willing to play their part, he thought as he presented himself to the Kommandant, who was, as expected, seething.

"Whoever started this is going into the cooler. Now who was it?" Klink straightened and stared expectantly at the motley group of men, most of whom were dirty from rolling around in the dirt. No one stepped forward.

"I run a disciplined camp. If no one admits their part, you will all be punished. No, the entire camp will be punished."

Grumbles and protests greeted this proclamation, and other prisoners not involved in the fight stepped forward.

"Kommandant, perhaps I can find out what happened," Maddock offered.

Klink nodded.

"All right, what happened?" Maddock asked.

A British sergeant stepped forward. "We lost a football. They took it and wouldn't give it back, and then the Norwegians on our team had words with the Dutch on the other team , and it took off from there."

"The Norwegians and the Dutch?" Even Klink had trouble believing that. There weren't enough of those nationalities in camp to fill two huts.

"Yes, sir."

"You've been very fair, so far, sir." Maddock whispered. "Morale hasn't been too good, you know. No mail. German victories everywhere. Let me handle this," he pleaded.

"No cooler this time, but the extra electricity I agreed to let you have is now rescinded," Klink stated. "But the next fight, I promise you, I will be harsher."

"Thank you, sir." Maddock nodded. "All of you, dismissed."

As the Germans and the prisoners walked away, Maddock turned to his co-conspirators. Newkirk was clearly worried.

"What if he doesn't bring Louis back?"

"Nothing we can do about that now. Just be glad Klink didn't order a roll call. I was afraid he would think the fight was staged to cover an escape."

The group walked back towards Barracks two and went inside. Maddock acknowledged the men in the common room, some of whom were involved in the fight.

"Great job."

"Not a problem," replied Anderson, who jumped off his bunk. "But what about LeBeau? The dog handler drove away."

Maddock was worried, but didn't want to show his concern. "We'll have to trust that he'll bring him back."

LeBeau was at the mercy of the dog handler. The van was on the road for a short time, but after about 15 minutes of bumpy driving, it stopped. LeBeau held his breath as the back of the van opened.

Oskar motioned for LeBeau to get out. After jumping down, LeBeau straightened up his posture. "Monsieur."

Oskar shut the doors. "Je ne parle pas français bien," he replied. "Parlez-vous anglais ou allemande?"

"English," LeBeau replied. "My English is better."

"Good. Oskar Schnitzer." The vet held out his hand.

"Louis LeBeau." He grasped the vet's hand and gave it a hearty shake. Looking around, he asked. "Where are we?"

"Not far from camp. Come this way." Oskar began walking through the brush and trees, stopping when they arrived at the entrance to the abandoned mine. "Not all of us Germans support the war, or the policies of the government," Oskar said. "You probably realize by now that the dogs are not what they seem."

"Of course. But what about looking for the tunnels?" LeBeau asked.

"They'll find what we want them to find," Oskar explained. "We'll work something out. I assume there is one started?" Seeing LeBeau's reticence, Oskar said, "Never mind. Well, perhaps this will gain your trust. This is an entrance to an abandoned mine that runs right under the prison camp."

LeBeau's eyes widened. "Why would they build a camp on top of a mine?"

"Not sure. But the camp was here long before the war. It was a recreational site. Somehow the information about the mine got lost, or deliberately overlooked. But my friends and I received the blueprints for the mine from another source. You can thank the misnaming of the camp for that." Oskar chuckled. "We believe part of it goes right under the dog compound."

"Incroyable!" Louis exclaimed. "And if we can reach the mine, we can tunnel out."

"Or we can hide items in the mine. Radios, weapons, men. Who knows what," Oskar stated. "But we need help. We're not engineers. This is where you come in." Oskar pulled out a piece of paper. "We know you have a sergeant in camp who worked in the coal mines. A fellow by the name of Bellows."

"How did you find that out?" LeBeau asked cautiously.

"I can't say," Oskar replied.

LeBeau trusted the veterinarian; after all, it was obvious the dogs were friendly to the prisoners, and that the tunnel finding operation was a scam. However, he had to be sure. "The Kommandant's secretary told you. She's on our side, isn't she?" Louis did not have to mention the conversation Helga had with Maddock. It was now clear why the secretary pumped the MOC for information.

Oskar paused and turned away for a moment. LeBeau waited as the veterinarian clearly thought over the implications of what LeBeau had revealed. He turned back. "I've known Helga since she was a little girl. I helped get her this job. You must leave Helga out of this. I warn you, I will turn on the prisoners, if necessary."

This statement was enough to gain LeBeau's trust. After all, although he assumed Helga knew the risks, he would do the same as Schnitzer if he was in the same position.

"Of course."

"I need to get you back to camp. But first, I will need to meet with Bellows or any other men in camp who can look at these tunnels."

"It was not easy getting to the van," LeBeau said. "I don't think we can continue to have fights. In fact, I have no idea what Klink did to punish those involved."

"I can't help you there. I will be back the same time next week to change the dogs. Hopefully, your comrades will think of something. And if you succeed, Bellows will be with us for a while. So you have to make sure he won't be missed."

"That shouldn't be a problem. Roll call is at 5."

Oskar returned to the camp, telling the guards he had left something in the dog pen. This time, LeBeau, due to his small stature, was able to hide on the floor in front of the van. Oskar parked the van close to the pen, with the passenger side next to the fence. With Oskar in the pen, the dogs became restless and noisy, and the area was avoided by the guards, enabling LeBeau to crawl out of the van and sneak back to a safer area. He noted the behavior for future reference and he also noticed that the gate was merely latched, not locked. Perhaps, he thought, a useful entrance to the tunnel would be through the dog pen.


	10. Don't Look a Gift Horse in the Mouth

.

What's in a Name

Chapter Ten

Don't Look a Gift Horse in the Mouth

Plans for inspecting the tunnel the following Wednesday were canceled due to inclement weather. Oskar did not even bother checking for signs of prisoner contact; he hustled the dogs in and out of the van, and quickly drove off into a driving rain.

The prisoners were disappointed, but patient. And, as LeBeau helpfully pointed out, they had an extra week to practice moving clandestinely around camp and near the dog pen. In addition to the British coal miner, a Norwegian engineering student volunteered to also inspect the cave and discuss tunnel strategy.

The following Monday was sunny and pleasant, and the Kommandant was in a good mood. A courier in a Kübelwagen was waved through the gates; a welcome sight, as he was carrying packages and letters for the camp staff. The prisoners watched glumly as Schultz and Langenscheidt sorted through the mail, handing it over to the happy guards.

Schultz stopped the courier before he could leave. "What is this?" Schultz asked. "This does not belong to us." He pointed to Corporals Langenscheidt and Geist, who were struggling to hold up a huge box.

"Hey, Sergeant. I just deliver the mail. It's pre-sorted somewhere else. If it comes here, it belongs here."

"But it's addressed to an officer at Stalag 13," Schultz pointed out.

"This is Stalag 13."

"Not exactly," Schultz grumbled. "We don't have an officer by that name at this camp. And this is Luft Stalag 13. Actually 6. But there was a mistake, and tampering with the mail is a serious offense. Imagine, opening up mail that does not belong to you."

"Tell that to the Gestapo, Sergeant. I hear they open mail all the time."

Schultz, Langenscheidt, and Geist's mouths hung open, amazed at the brazenness and foolishness of the courier's comment.

"I'm on a tight schedule. Have your Kommandant sort it out. You can always repackage it and send it back." Without waiting for a reply, the courier took off.

"What should we do with this, Sergeant?" Geist huffed as he tried to get a better grip on the box.

"Take it to the office."

The three tramped over to the Kommandteur, Schultz holding open the door for the two other guards. "Mail," he said to Helga, who held out her hand. Her eyes widened as Geist and Langenscheidt, followed Schultz in and plopped the large box on her desk.

She stood up and peeked at the label on the box.

"This isn't ours," she said, as she quickly looked through the mail. She put aside a few envelopes and walked around the desk and headed for Klink's office.

"We know." Schultz sighed. "But the courier wouldn't take it back."

"I'll ask the Kommandant what to do with it." Helga tapped on the door.

"Come in, Helga." Klink said as he put down his pencil.

Helga opened the door and smiled ."Your mail." She dropped it on his desk. "And we received another package."

"For them?" Klink's good mood suddenly vanished.

"Yes, sir. The courier refused to take it back. It's rather large. This time it's addressed to a Oberstleutnant von Richter. We have no one here by that name."

"I need to stretch. Let's take a look." This was the 3rd package in two weeks that took an extended jaunt through the Third Reich's package and delivery system. The last box, which contained screws, nails, and light switches, was forwarded to the other Stalag 13, along with a terse note.

Fortunately, for Luft Stalag 13, or 6, all expected deliveries were now arriving on time.

As for unexpected deliveries? "Well," as Helga joked, "If we didn't know we were supposed to receive them, how can we miss them?"

Schultz, Langenscheidt and Geist were still in the outer office, keeping a close eye and hands on the large box, lest it fall.

Klink strutted over. "This is large," he commented. "I should report that courier. Wait a minute...Bring this into my office," he ordered.

Schultz motioned and the two corporals slowly carried the box inside and plopped it on the floor. "Dismissed." Klink waved them away.

"Is this something we ordered, Kommandant?"

"No. But I believe this is of utmost military importance and should not be overlooked. Dismissed, Schultz."

Schultz looked at Helga, who shrugged. He saluted, left the office and closed the door. Helga followed, but was stopped by Klink.

"Please stay. Look at this." Klink pointed to the stamps marking the point of origin of the box. "What does that say?"

Helga knelt down. "Paris, Kommandant."

"Paris," he repeated. "I'm tired of playing post office for these people." Helga giggled. Klink tilted his head in confusion. (1)

"Sorry, Kommandant. Here." She handed him the letter opener, which he used to cut the tape and glue. He opened the top and rustled through the packaging paper, tossing it on the floor. An envelope addressed to von Richtor was removed and opened.

"Aha. Just as I thought," Klink stated. "The occupiers are taking advantage of their soft, cushy, posting. Listen."

"Dear Brother,

Don't worry about me. The Parisians are being very cooperative; it is not dangerous. We have the upper hand. The city offers a bounty of delights, some of which I have sent on to you. Share it with whomever you wish. A few items are for a specific special person; those will be obvious.

I trust you will be satisfied with your new posting. I know it is not combat, but someone has to oversee the vanquished soldiers now in our care. It might as well be a von Richtor."

"The nerve," Klink muttered. "As if this is not an important and dangerous job."

"It is, Kommandant." Helga, now appalled, patted the Kommandant's arm.

"Give mother a hug for me if you see her.

Best,

Your brother,

Frederick."

Klink removed more packaging. "Let's take an inventory."

"Should I get my shorthand book, sir?"

"No." Klink began to remove the bounty, as the sender called it.

"Foie Gras. 6 cans, Pâté, Merlot, 1901. Bet that is a good year. Mousse." He continued removing cans of food; fruit, jams, meat, and then some alcohol, until he reached bottom. His desk now resembled a French pantry.

"There's more under here," Helga pointed out.

She began unpacking dry goods, including silk handkerchiefs, fine linens, and a few pieces of carefully wrapped bone china. "This would be good for tea." And finally, at the bottom of the box, Helga discovered several pairs of silk stockings and a bathing suit.

That left both of them speechless.

"Imagine that." Klink held it up, then quickly dropped it on the desk. "Looks like it will fit you, my dear."

"Oh, Kommandant, I couldn't," Helga protested.

"Yes, you can. Here." He gathered up the women's dry goods in a pile, added the swimsuit, and handed it to his secretary. "Take them. Consider it a gift for all your hard work."

"But...this doesn't belong to me, or to this camp..."

"That's an order, Helga," Klink interrupted. "I'm tired of dealing with them, and their packages, and their brothers having an easy time in Paris. Our tax money pays their salaries, you know."

Helga was fully aware that goods and slave labor from occupied countries were flooding Germany. Most of these goods were not legally paid for, but were stolen.

"Help me get everything else back and the box resealed, Helga. Then have it taken to my quarters."

A little while later, Helga was examining the goods Klink had foisted upon her. She had to laugh. So far, the naming kerfuffle had sent them a wonderful translator, in the form of Corporal Langenscheidt. She had to admit that he was growing on the camp, and on her in particular. There were missing prisoners and missing guards, a group of lucky enlisted POW's ending up here, a much nicer camp instead of the unknown and much larger Stalag 13, a discovery of an abandoned mine underneath the camp, an excuse for Helga to misplace the order for ferrets, not the little animals, but the guards trained in the art of looking for tunnels, and now...a linkup between the prisoners and Oskar's little underground cell.

Although Helga assumed the goods were paid for, she was still uncomfortable with the whole scenario, as looking at them reminded her that millions of people were now suffering under the occupation. However, she decided to keep them. What else would she do with them? She put aside some handkerchiefs to give to her mother...a gift from Klink, of course. And the rest? Opening the bottom drawer of her desk, Helga placed the items underneath the personal items she kept there. And there they would stay until needed. After all, one never knows when a pair of silk stockings, or yes, even a bathing suit, might come in handy. (2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) The game of Post office has been mentioned in popular culture since the 1920's. (wikipedia)
> 
> (2) The bathing suit did come in handy. And now we know why Helga had one available. (in a prison camp? LOL) See the first season episode, "How to Cook a German Goose by Radar. " (season 1, ep. 24)


	11. A General Inconvenience

What's in a Name  
chapter 11

A General Inconvenience

End of July, 1940

author's note: I am not using the pilot episode as canon in this story.

To Klink's dismay, arrivals of new prisoners fell to a trickle as it appeared that Germany and its allies had achieved domination over most of Europe and a good part of Africa as well. England was the next target, and Germany began a campaign to soften up the island nation for the invasion that everyone expected. Dogfights over the channel and Great Britain were now breaking out. The British were putting up a good fight, and German fliers were being taken prisoner. Some kommandants, Klink included, followed the Geneva Convention, hoping that Britain's treatment of German prisoners would be humane.

Despite Klink's best attempts to keep some war news from the prisoners, word got out. Guards gossiped; a few even listened to banned BBC broadcasts, while the newest prisoners reported all information to Sergeant Maddock. Germany took complete control of the Channel Islands, and the Luftwaffe conducted raids on Scotland, Wales, and Northern Ireland. The RAF bombed German military facilities in the Netherlands and German munitions factories, but this news did nothing to calm the anxiety of the British men in camp.

It took another few weeks for the next planned meeting between Oskar and a prisoner to take place. Delayed by a veterinary emergency, Oskar didn't arrive until later that afternoon. He first parked near the office and headed inside. After a few minutes, he left and reentered his van. He drove it next to the dog pen, and began his weekly routine of changing the dogs.

As planned, three prisoners, LeBeau, the coal miner, and the Norwegian engineering student, made their way slowly across the camp, hugging close to the buildings and being vigilant about watching the guards. Their practice runs paid off, as no one was near the dog pen while Oskar worked with the dogs. His training made sure of that, as the sight of a German guard elicited growls and a cacophony of barking and snarling. Most guards also found, that despite the veterinarian's stellar reputation in town, at camp, Oskar was grumpy and distracted.

Oskar checked over the dogs under his care, and switched out three that day. As he closed the doors to the back of the van, he spied the French prisoner and two other men edging nearer to his area. As they turned the corner, LeBeau exchanged a few words, pointed and then turned back towards the compound.

Curious as to why there were now two prisoners heading towards his truck, Oskar shrugged, and waited for the right moment to get them inside. Confident that the coast was clear, the doors opened, and the two men flung themselves inside the van.

This time, the dogs were beside themselves with glee, as they had not one, but two friendly men to keep them company on the ride out of camp.

As per routine, no one at the gates bothered to check the back of Oskar's van; he drove unhindered out of the camp, and went directly to the site near the mine entrance. He didn't speak to the two prisoners until he opened the back and motioned for them to exit.

"Sergeant Scott Bellows, sir." The British miner introduced himself in a thick accent. "And this is Sergeant, Demetri Foss."

"You have me at a disadvantage, gentlemen," Oskar said. "I only expected one of you."

"I'm an engineering student," Foss replied in English. "We thought I could be of use."

Oskar stroked his chin. "You are correct, but in the future, please stick to the arranged plan. We can't be too careful."

"I apologize, sir," said Bellows. "I'll let them know."

"Very good. Now let's get started, shall we? Actually, we can each take one of the dogs. I picked these three specifically." Oskar produced three harnesses, and within minutes, the two POW's and the vet were investigating the mine tunnel. The inspection was slow and controlled, as Bellows and Foss insisted on checking every inch. They carefully inspected every piece of wood used to brace up the ceilings and walls. The two airmen also got down on their hands and knees and crawled along the floor.

To their surprise, Oskar produced both the blueprints of the mine, and remarkably, blueprints of the camp he had "borrowed" from Helga that morning. He also had pieces of scrap paper available for the coal miner in case the sergeant wished to take notes or draw diagrams. The engineer was a bonus, Oskar realized, as the Norwegian skillfully sketched a scale diagram of both the camp and the tunnels, producing a legible overlay.

"See this area?" Oskar pointed his torch to the ceiling. "We believe this may be under the dog pen."

"What do the dogs think, Oskar?" asked Bellows.

"They do get a bit more energetic around this area. Watch." He let the dogs off the leashes, and the shepherds began excitedly sniffing, and making sounds. After a moment, Oskar said, "come," and the dogs obeyed. He reattached the harnesses and waited for the airmen's' opinion.

"I think your shepherds' noses know the truth. Look." Foss spread the two blueprints and his pad of paper on the table. "I believe this area here..." He grabbed a small piece of wood and used it to point to the ceiling. "Is underneath the doghouse."

"The doghouse!" exclaimed both Oskar and Bellows.

"How can you tell?" Bellows asked.

"I've been pretty bored since I've been in camp. I know it backwards and forwards. In fact, I have my own diagram of the camp back at the barracks. I didn't bring it with in case we got caught. I'm almost positive the doghouse is here." Foss grabbed the table, moved it a few feet, and hopped up. Hand me that piece of wood," he asked Bellows.

Foss took the wood and began testing the ceiling. "I think we could dig underneath here and reach the pen. All we have to do is remove the bracing," he noted.

"What good is it to reach the pen?" asked Bellows. "We can't get outside from there."

"If a prisoner can get to the dog pen," Oskar said, "he can then get to this system, and then out of the camp. But, the tunnel entrance has to be hidden. It won't do for you or Corporal LeBeau to pop up out of the ground right in the middle of the pen." He chuckled. "He'd be spotted."

"We would have to be able to get down and come up somewhere enclosed. Someplace where we could check to make sure the coast is clear before heading back to the compound or barracks."

"Wait," Bellows interrupted. "Wouldn't we use these as escape tunnels? Especially since they look pretty safe, although I'd do some bracing, string lights and add ventilation if I had my druthers."

"It will take some time to plan out escapes," said Foss. "We'd have to get cracking on making clothes out of blankets, forging documentation. This would be a good place to store items."

"That's what we hoped," Oskar said. "Now that we know the tunnel is safe, there are those of us in town who wish to use it for our own purposes."

"Radios?" Bellow asked.

Oskar shrugged. "A radio may be doable. Camera equipment as well. Getting ready for an escape attempt will take quite a while."

"We need to keep digging into the barracks," Bellows added. "But this is a good start."

"Speaking of digging," Oskar said. "I think my dogs will need to find another tunnel."

Bellows laughed. "We can arrange that, sir. I think this one will do nicely." He pointed to the camp diagram. "We haven't gotten very far."

"Leave it there, then." Oskar took the paper, folded it and put in his pocket. "I'll conduct a surprise inspection. So what do you think? We can work together, yes?"

The three shook hands.

"Um. How do we get back to camp?" asked Bellows nervously.

General Albert Burkhalter's new duties after being injured in Poland included oversight of all Luftwaffe camps in District 6, a job he once considered beneath him. But, to his relief, he discovered that this position came with perks. Kommandants normally attempted to gain his trust and favorable reports to Berlin by wining and dining the portly general whenever he visited one of the camps under his charge. The position was relatively safe. There was no combat involved and POW camps were not targets of Allied bombers. And most important, he was under the radar. Despite being on Hitler's staff, he was not high enough to be noticed. When called, he would report to Berlin, deliver his statistics, generally agree with whatever the Fuhrer said, and then go on his merry way. Yes, Burkhalter mused as he traveled to his next inspection, this duty was not that bad.

His next stop was the camp located in Hamelburg. He had appointed the Kommandant himself. Wilhelm Klink was a member of a family that traced its military service back many years. Although the Kommandant had served in the Great War, and had quite a few medals and citations to his name, Burkhalter had never heard of Klink until the oberst's name showed up on the general's desk. Several high-ranking officers recommended Klink, mentioning that kommandant of a prison camp was a position tailor-made for the veteran.

As he read through his notes, Burkhalter recalled the bureaucratic bungle that led to Klink's appearance at Berlin Headquarters. According to the report, he had attempted many times to fix the mix-up, but to no avail. This did not leave a good impression with Burkhalter. He had other things to worry about besides naming mix-ups, and felt that Klink should have dealt with the matter or shut-up.

Frankly, he thought, what difference did it make at this point? Everyone now knew that Stalag 13 was in Hammelburg, and that Luft Stalag 13 was in Hamelburg. So far, however, Klink appeared competent and reputable. There had been no escapes from the camp, and no reports of improprieties. Burkhalter settled back into the seat and decided that he would be fair, and make his own judgment about Klink.

The general left the plane with his briefcase and a valise, which then taxied away from the runway over to a maintenance facility. Surprisingly, no one was there to meet him. This made Burkhalter angry. After all, he was a general, and it was decorum and plain common sense that a car be parked next to plane, so that he didn't have to walk. Grumbling, he began walking towards the nearest building, and stepped in a large mud puddle, which splashed up onto his uniform. He stomped towards the building and swung open the door. Fortunately for the men inside, they noticed immediately that an irate general had entered their office, and they stood up and saluted in record time.

"Get me a towel, a staff car, and a driver!" Burkhalter bellowed.

"Yes, sir," stammered an enlisted man who quickly left. Within minutes, a car materialized. The driver put the valise and briefcase in the trunk, and then opened the back seat. Burkhalter, showing amazing dexterity and grace for a man his size, easily slid into the car. The driver then asked, "Where to, sir?"

"The prison camp," Burkhalter ordered.

The driver pulled out of the airport and as quickly as possible delivered the general to the gates of the prison camp located outside of town. He stopped at the gate, and after a moment, was waved through.

"Take me to the Kommandant's office." Burkhalter had closed his eyes at the beginning of the ride to ward off the headache he knew was coming. He didn't open them until the car stopped. The driver opened his door, ran to the back, removed the general's belongings, and then opened the passenger door.

Burkhalter left the vehicle, and it was at that moment that he realized he was now standing in the wrong camp.

Of course, the general would never admit that his disinterest and poor sense of direction contributed to the mistake and the unscheduled inspection of Stalag 13. He blamed the now-missing pilot and everyone else within his range. His inspection of Luft Stalag 13 now delayed, the general decided to see how the new Wehrmacht camp handled a surprise visit from a member of Hitler's staff. As expected, the camp command hid their shock, swallowed their pride, and made a formidable attempt at boot-licking. . After a decent meal (he was famished, after all), Burkhalter commandeered a staff car and another plane, and took off for his original destination. He arrived at Luft Stalag 13 at the same time Oskar was heading back towards camp to return Bellows and Foss.


	12. I Should Have Called Ahead

What's in a Name

Chapter 12

"I Should Have Called Ahead"

Oskar Schnitzer's van crossed paths with General Burkhalter's staff car on the Hamelburg Road, several kilometers north of the camp. Burkhalter's car was violating multiple traffic regulations, as the impatient and noticeably cross general wished to get to his destination as soon as possible. During the ride, the hapless driver was forced to listen to Burkhalter grousing about the various indignities that had befallen him during his cursed inspection tour. Of course, the general neglected to mention how he couldn't be bothered to look out the window of his plane. Had he done so, he would have noticed the incorrect flight path. Admitting his own mistakes was not part of Burkhalter's vocabulary.

Drawing attention to himself was not part of Oskar's vocabulary. His van was nicely and slowly rumbling along, a wise decision considering his dangerous cargo, the two allied prisoners returning from an inspection tour of a different sort, a look at the abandoned mine entrance conveniently hidden underneath their prison. Bellows, the smaller of the two POW's, was hidden on the floor of the van, while Foss hid in the back with the dogs.

Oskar, who knew this portion of the road was free of checkpoints, noticed the black staff car coming into view, and wisely pulled off to the side of the road to let it pass.

"Someone's in a hurry," Oskar commented as he pulled back onto the road.

"What was it?" Bellows asked.

"A staff car. There's a high-ranking officer in there. We could have a problem," he said. "They're heading for the camp."

"That's not good."

"No, it's not," Oskar agreed. "They may not let me back in. Well, we have no choice, now, do we? We still have to get you home."

Bellows was nervous, but he did not wish to scare the veterinarian. "We shall have to play it by ear, as they say. Perhaps it would be safer if I got in the back with Foss?"

Oskar nodded in agreement. Bellows made the switch, and Oskar continued driving closer to the Stalag.

The guards nonchalantly opened the gates and waved Burkhalter's car straight through without checking credentials. This security lapse did not meet with the general's standards. While he never wished to be ignored, the guards should have stopped the car and asked who was calling.

"Stop," he told his driver. "You there," Burkhalter barked at the guard on duty. "Do you just wave anyone through?"

The guard, now realizing he was being spoken to by a general, the first to show up at this small misnamed backwater camp, stumbled and stammered. "I'm sorry, we just..."

"Never mind your excuses. Watch who you let in."

"Should I announce you, sir?"

Burkhalter didn't answer as he told his driver to continue on.

Corporal Langenscheidt was standing in the shelter next to the gate. He recognized the general from photos he had seen in Helga's office, and had the presence of mind to contact the secretary.

"Yes?" Helga picked up the phone on Klink's desk. Her face paled. "Kommandant," she squeaked out.

"What is it?" Seeing the look on Helga's face, Klink slammed the door to his safe shut, and hurried over.

"A general is in the compound. General Burkhalter."

Klink almost dropped his monocle. "I knew he would be coming here, eventually. But not this soon." He briefly wondered if his complaints about the naming fiasco had prompted the quick visit.

Helga hurried to the window. "His car is here." She observed the general, who looked angry. Without checking with the Kommandant, Helga left the office and quickly sat at her desk.

Klink closed his door, and sat down at his desk. He kept himself busy by straightening his files in numerous ways.

Burkhalter stomped up the steps and opened the door, ready to take his bad day out on the Kommandant in charge of the misnamed camp. His first sight, as he entered, was the pretty, young, blond, fraulein seated at the desk.

She rose, and he stood transfixed and suddenly mute.

"General Burkhalter, I'm Helga, Kommandant Klink's secretary. We are so pleased to have you in camp. He's expecting you. Right this way." Helga opened the door to Klink's office. "Kommandant. General Burkhalter to see you. General, may I get you a beverage?"

Burkhalter, his eyes still on Helga, had not yet acknowledged Klink. "Hot tea, please." he answered.

"Right away. Kommandant?"

"The same," Klink said.

"I'll be right back." Helga closed the door.

It never occurred to Burkhalter to wonder why a young female civilian was working at a prisoner of war camp.

Klink, clearly nervous, fawned over his visitor. "General, please sit down."

"Thank you, Kink."

"Klink, sir."

"Yes, I know your name. I assigned you." Burkhalter glanced around the office. It was modest, he noticed approvingly. Hitler's picture was hung on the wall in an appropriate noticeable place. A map of Germany and a camp diagram took up space on the wall behind Klink's desk. The desk was tidy, a pickelhaube and a humidor lending a personal touch. On the far side, sat a long bookcase. A phonograph was on top. The general spied a violin case nestled along the wall in between the shelf and a door, which he assumed led to a powder room. The regulatory safe was next to the wall opposite the desk, and a sideboard took up space on the furthest wall. A decanter set sat in the middle.

"Your gate security is lacking. They waved my car through without a second thought."

"I apologize, General. You see, we don't get many visitors. It won't happen again."

Burkhalter leaned forward. "No it won't. Because the next time I come, they will allow my car through, no questions asked."

Klink leaned back in his chair. "That's correct, General."

"Stop agreeing with everything I say."

"Stop agreeing," Klink parroted back. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize."

Klink wisely kept his mouth shut.

"They will allow me through, but not anyone else."

"They will double-check and ask questions?"

"Why are you asking me? This is your camp."

"No, they will double-check. I'll make a note of that." Klink grabbed a pad and jotted down a few words. A small tap on the door interrupted Klink's panic. "Come in."

Burkhalter's mood changed. He smiled at Helga who was holding a tray. She placed it on the desk. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, General. Kommandant."

"Thank you, Helga." Klink gave her a look reminiscent of a frightened rabbit.

She left the office, steadied herself by the filing cabinet and took a deep breath. The Kommandant obviously thought her nerves were due to the general's appearance. However, Helga knew two men were missing from camp and she had no idea if Oskar would be allowed back in. And if not, how would Bellows and Fink be returned? And what if the general demanded a roll call? She sat down at her desk and tried not to panic.

Oskar slowly rolled up to the gate. To his surprise, the gates didn't automatically open.

"Halt!" The private on duty held out his hand.

Langenscheidt left his shelter and hurried over. "Krauss. Normally, protocol says that you yell halt before the vehicle stops at the gate." He shook his head. Since he had arrived at this Luft Stalag, he quickly realized that the guards were not the brightest bulbs in the box. The secretary had confided in him that Klink had to recruit from the bottom of the barrel, as assigned guards had been erroneously sent to the other camp.

Although, he admitted, he had no right to complain. Karl was not cut out to be a soldier. He was extremely book smart, but militarily, he knew he should have been drummed out of the army before he hurt himself, or anyone else, for that matter. Of course, in Hitler's Germany, that was not an option, and he kept quiet. He was eternally grateful for being tapped to work with prisoners, and even more so for the mistake that sent him to this particular camp.

"Why are you here, Dr. Schnitzer?" he asked politely. "Your duties for today have been completed."

Having already used the excuse of forgetting something, Oskar had come up with another plan. "Corporal?"

"Langenscheidt, sir."

"Something wrong?"

"Security has been increased." Only a moment ago, Langenscheidt had received an irate phone call from Klink.

"Does this have anything to do with the staff car that was speeding down the Hamelburg road?" Oskar asked.

"Yes, sir," Langenscheidt replied without thinking. "A general is visiting."

"Well that is great timing. I have returned because I will be conducting a surprise inspection. I will be looking for tunnels with my dog. The prisoners will never expect this, since I was already in today."

"I'll call." Langenscheidt stepped aside to contact the Kommandanteur, when Krauss tapped the corporal on the shoulder.

"What is it?" Langenscheidt turned.

The private pointed. Langenscheidt dropped the phone, leaving it dangling from the cord, as with dismay, he and Krauss watched the Kommandant and the general approach.

"Of course, General Burkhalter," Klink said in a sing-song voice. "We've had no escapes."

"So you've told me. Over and over," Burkhalter grumbled. "I would hope not. You haven't been open very long. Get on with it. I'd like to see the rest of the camp before dinner, and then inspect the prisoners."

Well, General, that's true, but Stalag 4 has lost a few Frenchmen already. Mine are all here! Ah, Langenscheidt. Come here."

Langenscheidt clumsily hung up the phone. He stepped forward and proceeded to where the Kommandant and the general stood, right inside the compound next to the main gate.

The corporal saluted; one military action he had mastered.

"General, this is Corporal Langenscheidt, a member of our guard, and our official translator."

The general gave the corporal a passing glance. "What is that truck doing here?"

"Schnitzer?" Klink approached the gate. "That is our dog handler, General. He's very good, and reasonably priced. Langenscheidt. Why didn't you let him through?"

"Your orders, sir."

"Ah, that's correct."

"He wishes to conduct a tunnel search," Langenscheidt said.

"Why is the dog handler checking for tunnels, Klink?" asked Burkhalter.

"Our ferrets never showed up. They were sent to Stalag 13. But he has trained his dogs to sniff for tunnels."

"Let him through, Corporal," Burkhalter ordered. "I'd like to see this."

Krauss opened the gates and waved Oskar into the camp. The veterinarian stopped his van, and Klink approached the driver's window. "I know I was here today, Kommandant, but this inspection will catch the prisoners off-guard."

"Yes. Brilliant. Proceed."

Oskar drove over to the dog pen, maneuvering the van so the back was several feet in front of the gate. "May I suggest that you and the general stay clear. I have three dogs in the back that I need to put back in the pen, so they don't overheat. Then I will retrieve the dog I trained."

By now, Helga couldn't stand the tension, and she decided to step out onto the porch of the office to see what was happening in the compound.

Please God, let this work, Oskar prayed as he went around to the back.

Meanwhile, the two prisoners trapped in the back of the van with the dogs were in the dark as to what was happening. They knew they had rolled into camp, and were ready to make their move as soon as they were presented with the opportunity. But most important, they were not willing to sacrifice the civilian veterinarian, and so they were trying to come up with a plausible explanation as to why they were in the back of the van. So far, neither could come up with an excuse, especially since instead of being attacked, they were, instead, enjoying a nice cuddle with the three friendly guard dogs.

Oskar wished there was a tunnel entrance inside the dog compound, for it may have been possible that the two prisoners could have gone inside with the dogs and quickly disappeared into the ground until it was safe to come back up.

He un-latched the back of the van, and opened the doors just wide enough to coax the three dogs out. Oskar held his hand up to warn the two men inside that it was not safe to make a move. One by one, he led the dogs into the pen, and he then closed the doors, keeping them un-latched and slightly ajar, not enough that a guard would notice, but just enough that Foss and Bellows could hear and see a bit of daylight. It was up to them now. Oskar went inside the pen, and removed Freidrich. Without a word, he began walking around the compound, leading the two officers to the other side, out of sight of the van and the dog-pen. To his relief, the not so professional guards, including Schultz, ignored the pen and followed.

This was all observed by the prisoners, who moments ago had heard the words prisoner inspection, and feared for their missing compatriots. Now that the general was distracted, they waited for the two men to make their move.

Foss and Bellows slowly left the back of the van and rolled underneath the vehicle. On their stomachs, they crawled a bit forward and waited for the right time to make a move.

With perfect timing, a football got loose from a group of men, several of whom chased it over to the van.

"Get away from the dog-pen!" Yelled a guard who was watching the game. He raised his rifle.

"Just getting the ball!" Newkirk yelled back. He raised his hands and the rest of the men did the same. The guard lowered his rifle, and the five men who ran after the ball were now seven, as Foss and Bellows joined the group, safely making their way away from the van and into the center of the camp compound. No handshakes or back slaps were given; that would be later when everyone was safe. But the prisoners, the vet and the secretary all breathed a sigh of relief.

Helga went back inside and helped herself to a glass of the Kommandant's schnapps to calm her nerves.

Oskar, now seeing his cargo had been safely returned, led the dog away from the delousing station and over to the area where he would find a tunnel. Sure enough, after a few moments of sniffing and wagging, the dog sat. Guards came running over with shovels, and after a minute of digging, a small tunnel was discovered.

"You see, General, they can't get anything past us here at Stalag 13."

"It seems so, Klink. Dr. Schnitzer, I'm impressed."

The vet shrugged. "All in a day's pay. If you will excuse me, I have to get those three shepherds home."

Burkhalter nodded. "Klink, this man is an asset to you and this camp. I shall have to report this to Berlin. Perhaps we can make use of this technique at other camps."

"Just as long as I get to keep my handler, General. He is the local veterinarian in town and is well-regarded by the civilians in the area. Not the friendliest man, but very competent," Klink explained as his ego began to rise.

"The Third Reich is not interested in friendliness, Klink. Competence is more important." Burkhalter turned and began walking back towards the office.

"Do you wish to inspect the prisoners now, General? I can order a roll call."

"No, Klink. I'm tired. I will stay in your VIP quarters. Have a meal sent over."

Klink swallowed. "We don't have VIP quarters."

Burkhalter turned. "That's right; you said you have not received many visitors. I'll stay in your quarters. And see to it that VIP quarters are built. I expect to be in this area frequently. Your camp is centrally located."

"Yes, sir."

"Schuuultz!" Klink called for the sergeant who was following along. "General Burkhalter will be using my quarters. Change the sheets, and remove my night-clothes. You know what I need. And take them to your quarters. I'll sleep there. You'll bunk with the guards."

As a grumbling Schultz left to fulfill Klink's orders, the Kommandant and the general followed.

"General Burkhalter, after you, sir." Klink gallantly opened the door and stepped aside so that his guest could enter first. The door to his bedroom was open, and he could see Schultz working inside. "It's modest, but comfortable."

"Yes, I can see that." Burkhalter glanced at the living area. He headed over to the couch and took a seat.

Klink picked up the phone and ordered the general's dinner to be delivered. He waited for an invitation to join the general for the meal, but it was not forthcoming.

Schultz, carrying a small valise, left the bedroom. "Everything is ready for you, General Burkhalter," the sergeant stated.

"Thank you. I will finish the inspection tomorrow morning, Klink. O530. Turn on the radio before you leave."

Klink walked over to the approved radio, and flipped a switch. Soon, the sounds of Wagner filled the room.

"I guess I'll be eating in the officer's mess," Klink unhappily told Schultz as they walked across the compound.

"I'm sure it's better than the enlisted mess, Kommandant."

Klink grunted.

"Do you think this general will be able to help straighten out our bigger mess?" Schultz asked. Seeing Klink's blank look, he quickly added, "The naming kerfuffle."

"I'll speak to him about tomorrow. Hopefully, he'll be in an agreeable mood," Klink replied. He was a bit apprehensive, but told himself the visit could have gone worse. The dog handler, whom he hired, made a good impression on the general, as did Helga. Klink knew his camp was well-run, the prisoners were compliant, and his books were in order. Now feeling a tad better, Klink decided to ignore the butterflies in his stomach, and instead, he looked forward to the following morning.


	13. A New Sense of Urgency

"What's in a Name"

Chapter 13

"A New Sense of Urgency"

Burkhalter ate and slept well. Klink did not; and to make matters worse, the rest of the camp tour, as well as the general's inspection of the prisoners at roll call, was canceled due to inclement weather.

The two officers, along with Helga, were seated in Klink's office. Burkhalter, who was in the process of going over Klink's books, had commandeered the desk and Klink's chair. As Helga took notes, the Kommandant sat nervously and twiddled his thumbs.

"Stop twiddling, Klink." The general turned a page. "Seems like everything is in order, so far. I understand the prisoners are not housed by nationality." Burkhalter looked up. "That is irregular." He sat back and waited for an explanation.

Klink swallowed. "Well, I understand the convention, which I try to follow...to the letter. But housing them that way would be very impractical. You see, we would have severe overcrowding in the French and Polish barracks, and almost empty housing for the Norwegians and the..." Klink stopped as Burkhalter leaned forward.

"Did you say Polish?"

"Yes, we have approximately one hundred Polish enlisted men. They were the first to arrive." Klink looked at Burkhalter with a quizzical expression.

"You didn't follow the order?"

"What order, General?"

"The order turning them into civilian workers. The Polish prisoners are to be used for labor."

Helga dropped her pencil. "I'm sorry, General, Kommandant." Her heart began to race as she bent down to pick it up.

"But General Burkhalter, that removes their protection as..."

"That's what the order said, Klink," Burkhalter snapped. "I didn't write it," he admitted to Klink in a rare moment of honesty and regret. "But it needs to be followed." Burkhalter's annoyance swiftly returned. "Let me take a wild guess, you never received the order."

"No, sir." Klink answered. "I suppose it went to the other camp. Which I wanted to discuss with you before you leave. The other camp, and the mistake."

"I know all about the mistake. I ended up on a detour because of it," Burkhalter stated. "At the other camp."

"I'm sorry to hear that, General. So that is why you were late?" Klink leaned forward. "So how was it? The other camp, I mean,"

"Large," Burkhalter replied. "And they were as competent in boot-licking as all the other Luft-Stalag staffs."

"We don't do that here," Klink swiftly said. "Bootlick I mean. I mean we take good care of our visitors, especially generals, but we don't go overboard."

Helga was appalled at the conversation and particularly shocked and concerned at Klink's reaction to Burkhalter. It appeared that as the war continued, her boss's insecurities and fear of authority inflated.

The general's eyes narrowed. This is not the man I thought he was. While the camp appeared to be running smoothly, Burkhalter's opinion of Klink decreased. Maybe that's why he was recommended for a camp position by so many people. He would most likely be a menace commanding a combat unit.

"See to the Poles, Klink. Before my next visit," the general ordered. "If you need to, you can call Berlin for instructions as to where to send them, and ask for a copy of the order for your files."

Klink paled. "Yes, sir."

"I wonder what other important correspondence has been sent to the other camp? Fraulein, can you please connect me to the Kommandant of Stalag 13?"

While Burkhalter and Klink were waiting for Helga, Burkhalter spoke with Klink. "Normally, I wouldn't be too concerned about this issue. In fact, I was quite shocked that you actually came all the way to Berlin to try and straighten it out."

"I'll remove the trip from my expense account," Klink muttered.

"Yes, you will. As I was saying, I'm in charge of this sector, and what happens at these camps reflects upon me. Do you understand that?"

"Implicitly." Klink couldn't wait for the general to leave. His first order of business once he was alone? Down a large dose of antacid.

The buzzer on the phone rang, signaling that Helga had reached the Kommandant of Stalag 13.

"This is General Burkhalter.

No, I did not enjoy my tour.

Why? It wasn't the correct camp.

No, you are correct, that is not your fault. But I'm calling about a more urgent matter. Missing orders.

What difference does it make? I'm in charge of this sector, and the way my camps are run reflects upon me. And I will make note if problems occur because you are too disorganized to send misdirected mail, prisoners, guards or supplies to the originally intended recipient.

Yes, that is correct. I do have the ear of the Führer

Gooood. I see we understand each other. Heil Hitler."

"I believe I have straightened out that part of the problem, Klink." Burkhalter reached over and opened the humidor. He removed a cigar, which Klink hastily lit. The general relaxed back in the chair, and took a few puffs. "Hopefully, anyone or anything misdirected to the other camp will soon find its way back here."

"Thank you, sir. I have to ask about the maps, the stationery, signs and the other issues. Oberst Gratz said…"

"Berlin will not approve funds for new signage. You can use your own funds if you wish. I will look into the maps. That is important. And now, please call for my car."

After Helga got in touch with the Kommandant of Stalag 13 in Hammelburg, she put her face in her hands and tried not to cry. The order about the Polish prisoners upset her greatly. She had heard rumors that the Polish were being treated horrendously by the occupation forces, and the Jews in Poland were being forced into ghettos. She feared that the POW's were being sent to dangerous munitions factories or labor camps, and possibly being worked to death.

Hearing the door opening, she grabbed a handkerchief and dried her eyes. Corporal Langenscheidt walked through the threshold and gave Helga a shy smile, a smile, which lately seemed to melt her heart. He removed his cap.

"Something wrong, Fraulein Helga?" Concern was etched on the corporal's face.

"No. What can I do for you?"

"Is the general still in with the Kommandant?"

"Yes, but I believe he will be leaving soon."

"I have a message," Langenscheidt said. "The men sent out to the farms this morning to work are returning. The weather is too miserable. They are to go back as soon as the weather clears, as there is a lot of work to be done. And the group is asking for more prisoner volunteers for the summer and upcoming fall harvest, as more men are being called up."

Helga jotted down the message. "I'll see that the Kommandant gets this. Thank you."

Langenscheidt smiled. "Whatever it is that is bothering you, it will be all right."

Helga watched the corporal leave and mulled over the problem of the Polish prisoners. She was tempted to head right over to Oskar's after work, but she was not sure of his schedule. Tapping her fingers on the desk, a nervous habit she had acquired, she thought about what if anything she could do to stop the transfers. Somehow, she would have to put an idea into the Kommandant's head, but what? Her musings were interrupted again. This time it was Sergeant Maddock.

The very wet sergeant was grateful for many things. He was alive, and although he had been separated from his crew, all of them had survived the shooting down of their plane. He appreciated being sent to this camp, for he realized that conditions could have been worse. He had easy access to the administrative office; he was sure MOC's in other camps were not as fortunate. The guards were not trigger-happy, and plans to upgrade and expand the mine tunnel under the camp, now that their "experts" had taken a look, were about to progress. This subterfuge couldn't have come at a better time. Morale was down, as everyone knew that Britain and Germany were fighting in the skies over the island nation. The prisoners tried to put aside their anxiety about what was in store. The word invasion was never spoken out loud, but it was on the mind of every prisoner, both the British and the other nationalities, for they all knew that Britain stood alone.

It would take quite some time before everything was ready for a mass escape. But meanwhile, the prisoners had allies, and the men were anxious to give any help they could to these brave German civilians.

"Is the Kommandant available?" Maddock asked as he shivered.

"You're soaking wet," Helga said. "Let me get you something hot to drink. The Kommandant is still in with General Burkhalter."

"I need to speak with him about leaks." Maddock sneezed.

"Here." Helga handed the sergeant a mug of hot tea. "I haven't touched it. Drink it. It will warm you up." She got up from her chair and removed a blanket from the wardrobe. She draped it around his shoulders.

"Thank you."

"Have a seat. I believe the general will be leaving shortly." Helga bit her lip. She looked at the door, and then back at the prisoner. Taking a deep breath, she decided the situation was grave enough that it warranted a talk with the sergeant.

She walked over to the chair, and whispered into his ear. "There was a general order we didn't receive. The general told the Kommandant he has to transfer the Polish prisoners. They're to be used as labor."

Maddock's back stiffened.

"The Kommandant said they won't be under the protection of the Geneva Convention." Helga stepped back.

The sergeant rose and put the mug of tea down on Helga's desk. "I'll speak with my staff," he whispered. "We need to find a better way to make contact with the underground."

Helga nodded. Hearing movement coming from the Kommandant's office, she pointed to the chair and Maddock returned to his seat. "I think the Kommandant and the general are almost finished Sergeant," she said in a normal voice.

The door opened and General Burkhalter and Klink walked out.

Maddock, the blanket still around his shoulders, quickly rose and saluted.

The two German officers returned the salute.

"Who is this, Klink?" asked Burkhalter.

"This is Sergeant Maddock, the prisoners' spokesman, General."

"I see." Burkhalter moved closer to the sergeant and looked him straight in the eye.

"Do you have any complaints or comments, sergeant?"

Maddock took a deep breath. The general was an unknown commodity. He had no idea if he was facing an honorable and humane opponent, or a crazed Nazi. Based on the general's orders about the Polish prisoners, he feared the latter. Despite his trepidation, he decided to be honest. He was a proud British airman, after all, and his job now was to look after the men that had put their faith in his abilities to handle the German jailers.

"We've got leaky roofs, sir. That's why I'm here. Our mail hasn't been delivered, and we could always use more food. We're willing to do our part, but our work detail got canceled today because of the weather. Achoo. Excuse me."

"Gesundheit. What about the staff here, Sergeant?" asked Burkhalter.

Maddock glanced at Helga and then Klink. Klink was a known commodity; he was now able to anticipate the Kommandant's moves and reactions. Best to stay with what you know.

"Sir, the Kommandant, while strict and impossible to fool, is fair and humane. We're upset about the tunnels being found, but you can't blame us for trying."

Helga covered her mouth to hide a smile.

Burkhalter grinned, a sight that discomfited Maddock, as the general resembled a cat about to pounce on a mouse it planned to tease. "That is good to hear," he replied. He turned towards Helga and gave her a barely noticeable bow. "Thank you for your hospitality."

"You're very welcome, General. My Stalag is your Stalag." Klink was now in full milquetoast mode, a trait that did not go unnoticed by any of the people in the room.

"I was speaking to your secretary."

"Oh." Klink's face fell. "Your car should be here."

"Yes. It should. I will be back. As I mentioned, I plan on opening up an office in Hamelburg and requisitioning additional quarters for myself."

It took Klink a few seconds to realize that Burkhalter expected him to open the door. "Wait here, Sergeant. I'll speak with you in a few moments." Klink opened the door, and the two officers left the building, which gave Helga and Maddock a chance to speak in private without being overheard.

"We have to be quick," Maddock said.

"Yes. What are we going to do?"

"There's no way Klink will keep them here. They can't all escape. We have no way of getting them into the tunnel. And besides, there's too many."

"Perhaps I can convince the Kommandant to send some over to my father's factory in Dusseldorf," Helga said. "I'm not sure how these prisoners are to be housed or guarded, but they should be fairly safe there."

"What about the farms in the area?" Maddock asked. "A permanent agricultural labor force. We're sending me out there anyway."

"One of Oskar's friends is a farmer," Helga mentioned. "I can check into that. As long as the men aren't here when the general returns, he'll figure the Kommandant took care of the problem. You may be able to put the idea into his head, when he…"

Helga stopped talking as she heard the door begin to open. Klink, his coat dripping wet, entered the outer office. Helga rushed over to take his outerwear.

"Thank you, Helga. Well, I must admit, I'm glad that visit is over with." Switching to English, Klink said to Maddock, "Come into my office."

Maddock looked at the secretary and gave her a little wink.

After the door closed behind the Kommandant and the British sergeant, Helga picked up the phone and rang Oskar's home. Fortunately, he was in. She used a prearranged code to let him know a meeting was needed, and then she hung up and waited to see how the sergeant dealt with the Kommandant.

"So you see, sir. This weather has caused issues with work. We'd all rather not be here, but when we are asked to do a job, we like to do it properly. Not only does it affect food rations here, but the German children may suffer if the crops aren't planted, sowed, etc, etc. We've been having difficulties just keeping up with the animal husbandry."

"The what?" Klink asked.

"Taking care of the farm animals, sir."

"I see," Klink said, even though he didn't.

"It's a shame we can't have the men stay there permanently. They're doing that in England, you know. I think plans were drawn up beforehand to have your chaps help out." Maddock had no idea if that was the case, but his spin was taking on a life of its own, and it was beginning to mushroom out of control. To his shock, Klink seemed to be listening.

"I doubt the few German prisoners you have will be there for long," Klink replied, puffing up in indignation.

"Well, in the meantime, they're probably replacing the British men that have been called up."

"True," Klink agreed.

"It saves space in the prisons as well, sir. I'm sure you can appreciate that."

"I think it's out of the question," Klink decided. "Who would guard the prisoners?"

"I can guarantee that these men won't be going anywhere. Where could they go, in any case? They would be caught fairly quickly. Besides, it's probably safer here, than it is in, um… Poland, for example."

Klink stared at the sergeant for a moment. His eyes seemed to glaze over, and then his thoughts quickly passed.

"Well, I'll take it under consideration. But I doubt the farmers will agree." Klink scrawled a note on a piece of paper. "Take this to the guard outside. He'll take you over to supply to see about getting material to fix the leaks."

"Thank you, sir."

Maddock left the office hoping that his scheme had worked. The Kommandant had not told him about the order, and Maddock didn't know if that was a good or bad sign. He decided he would inform his staff, and also the leaders of the Polish contingent, but not the general camp population. For now, Maddock had planted the seed, and he, Helga and the rest of the camp had to wait for it to grow. If it did, and it took root, it would be a miracle. But, at this point, a miracle is what they would need to save the Polish prisoners.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: "The significant importance of forced labor for the Reich and its warfare becomes obvious regarding German agriculture. Without approximately 2 million foreign laborers, by the end of 1940, sufficient production of food to supply all the inhabitants would have become impossible. From autumn 1941 on the German wartime economy depended without other options on foreign labor. Since not enough foreigners came voluntarily, more and more forced recruitment was utilized, especially from spring 1942 on...The largest number of foreign laborers in the area of the Reich was registered in August 1944 at 7,615,970. Among these were about 1.9 million prisoners of war and 5.7 million civilians. Of the 7.6 million, 2.8 million were from the Soviet Union, 1.7 million from Poland, and 1.3 million from France. Altogether, during World War II, up to 13.5 million men, women, and children were brought to the Reich and forced to labor.
> 
> There were great differences depending on whether a forced laborer was deployed in rural areas or in the cities. In the country, surveillance and persecution by the NS authorities were less comprehensive and basic food was easier to come by."
> 
> Jewish virtual library dot org


	14. A Safe Solution, a Misdirected Guest, and Progress!

What's in a Name

Chapter 14

A Safe Solution, a Misdirected Guest, and Progress!

The seed planted by Sergeant Maddock, watered by Helga, and fertilized by Oskar and sympathetic members of the agricultural community, blossomed. It was not long before Klink and his staff were able to transfer all the Polish prisoners to farms. Foreign laborers were needed to keep the German food supply plentiful, and while the prisoners and their allies were concerned about the safety of the transferred men, this option seemed the least objectionable.

The Poles were stoic and courageous. They and their countrymen had suffered so much that they considered this latest stage in their war a minor setback. As Chernetsky told Maddock, before long they hoped to somehow make their escape to England so they could continue to fight.

While Klink would have preferred to keep his prison population intact, ignoring Burkhalter's order was not an option. When the duplicate order arrived from Berlin, the Kommandant dutifully notified both the general and Berlin that the order had been followed. No further action was needed.

The Red Cross lost contact with Polish prisoners in Klink's camp and throughout the Reich, but Helga made sure that she, Maddock and Oskar had records of where their prisoners were sent. And so, the first crisis of what was sure to be many, was handled the best way possible.

At the moment, there were several pressing concerns facing the conspirators. It was difficult for Oskar to communicate at will with the prisoners, and it was impossible for the prisoners to work on the tunnel system. For now, Helga was the intermediary, passing notes back and forth between Oskar and Maddock. Occasionally, Otto and a few other suppliers he had incorporated into their cell after a long process, would also come into camp and give information to the secretary. But everyone, including the prisoners, felt that was too dangerous. Another system had to be put in place.

"This area of the tunnel runs right under the dog pen," Otto explained to an underground member he knew only as Hercules. The strapping young man had arrived with two other friends to work on the system. They had to carefully follow the instructions of the experts imprisoned above them. Because of this obsession with safety and the lack of manpower, the expansion and shoring up of the walls and ceiling crawled along at a snails' pace. Their immediate goal was to break through into the pen, in hopes that the prisoners could use that entrance to get into the tunnel system and out of the camp. It was the little French prisoner, Louis LeBeau, who had first suggested this location. After all, he explained to the conspirators, none of the guards would even consider that the prisoners would have a tunnel hidden amongst the vicious guard dogs. Oskar had already delivered and placed the dog house they planned to use to cover the hole.

At a nearby table, a young woman worked on radio equipment. Katerina, a nurse in the local hospital, had taken care of a German soldier with loose lips. He mentioned that French resistance was being organized, and groups had successfully hidden downed Allied fliers from the Germans. The Nazis suspected that some of these fliers were passed back to England. The Hamelburg underground's goal was to make contact with the French resistance, thereby expanding their own operation, and hopefully acquiring more supplies and professional help.

The first bit of help unexpectedly arrived in September when a captured British captain was mistakenly deposited in front of Klink. Within several minutes, Klink dismissed both Schultz and Maddock, and offered the captain a seat and a drink.

"Your surname. It is French or Belgian, is it not?"

"I am a British citizen," answered Captain Jacques Marceau with a bit of defiance.

"Your father is French or Belgian? Your mother British?" asked Klink.

"Kommandant, I went through this extensively when I was captured. They got nothing more out of me, and nor will you, sir."

"Very well. You were supposed to be sent to another camp, Captain Marceau. " Klink stated. "I apologize for the inconvenience."

"C'est la guerre." Marceau took a drink of schnapps and glanced around the office. By now, the weary captain had sized up the Kommandant as a bureaucrat. So far, the Kommandant and his staff had been unfailingly polite. He chalked this up to either the novelty of receiving an officer in an enlisted man's camp, or to the fact that the camp was run by the Luftwaffe. Whatever the reason, it was a relief. His time with the Germans before arriving at this stalag had not been pleasant.

"This is actually a Luftwaffe camp," Klink prattled on. "But you must know that of course. The uniform?" Klink pointed to the medals on his chest.

"Oh, of course. I can see that."

"Well, unfortunately, we have an agreement with your original destination," Klink said with obvious distaste. "It's quite funny, you see. We're supposed to be...Well, never mind. We'll have your transfer papers worked up and completed in no time."

Marceau leaned forward and looked Klink straight in the eye. "Your accommodations, Kommandant, are most satisfactory." And closer to the channel. By the looks of it, I should be out of here within a fortnight.

"Yes, we think so. But we're strict. No one has escaped from our stalag. Nevertheless, we'll be sending you out as soon as transport can be arranged. Meanwhile, seeing as you're an officer, we'll put you in Barracks Two. They have separate quarters. Sergeant Maddock-he's the spokesman-can be moved from there temporarily."

"I assure you, sir. That is not necessary."

"Oh? Well, that's irregular, but up to you." Klink pushed a button on his intercom. "Fraulein Helga. Please ask Sergeant Schultz to come in and escort the captain to Barracks Two."

The door opened and the portly sergeant saluted and turned to Marceau. "Captain, if you please."

Marceau smiled at the secretary before leaving the outer office, and was pleased to get a smile in return. His walk across the compound was uneventful, although he noticed the copious amounts of curious stares coming from the prisoners milling about. Several offered him a salute, which he half-heartedly returned. Right now, he was more concerned with the war than protocol. The occupation of his ancestral homeland, Vichy traitors and of course, the bombing of England, were always on his mind. He was soon deposited at Barracks Two. The door opened and a bunch of disinterested men looked up and sized up the new arrival.

Sergeant Schultz cleared his throat. "Captain Marceau. He's here for a short time."

The door to the other room opened and Maddock, who had first met the captain in Klink's office, walked out.

"I'll take it from here, Schultz."

"But..."

"We'all take good care of 'im." Newkirk gently led the sergeant to the door. "You can check on us later. All right?" Both Newkirk and LeBeau had moved into the hut after the Polish prisoners were transferred. With more room in the camp, prisoners disbursed. Newkirk had become an indispensible part of Maddock's staff; not only due to his German langauge skills, but because of the other talents that had slowly come to light. He and LeBeau were tied to the hip, and Newkirk had refused the move unless his French friend could join him.

Schultz rolled his eyes. "No monkey business," he ordered as he left.

"Here, sit down, sir." Maddock pulled up a chair. "Coffee?"

"No thanks. Just had a drink of schnapps with Klink."

"The old boy must be beside himself. Having an officer in his little fiefdom," Newkirk chuckled.

Maddock nodded. After the MOC had returned from Klink's office, he and the rest of the barracks went over how to determine if the new arrival was a plant. Given the new prisoner's last name, Maddock thought it would be a good idea if several Frenchmen helped quiz the new man. The men in the barracks questioned the captain for over an hour. He answered all questions patiently, despite his fatigue.

The captain was definitely a native Brit, but he willingly revealed that his father's family came from France, and that he was fluent in the language. He had relatives in the unoccupied area, and that was where he was heading when he was captured. Prior to that, he had been hidden by civilians and had changed safe houses several times.

Once his interrogation was complete, Marceau had one question. "So, who's on the escape committee? I'd like to get out of here before I end up at that other camp. Too far into Germany for my liking."

"Not yet," Maddock said.

"Fair enough. Don't blame you. I'm sure you've noticed that the layout of this camp is a bit odd. Woods right next door. Huts level with the ground. What's up with this?"

"It used to be a recreation camp." Maddock walked over to a footlocker in the middle of the floor. He shoved it aside, pried open the floorboard and removed the papers hidden underneath. "Here's a diagram of the camp. And a map of the surrounding area." The sergeant cleared off a space on the small table, and unfolded the papers. One map remained hidden.

Marceau walked over and studied the diagrams. "Impressive artwork. How did you get the information about the area?"

"We have made contact with some friendly natives," was all Maddock was willing to say at the moment.

"I see." The lieutenant yawned. "Well, I don't know how long I shall be a guest of Kommandant Klink, but hopefully before I get transferred, we can figure out a way to put a stop to it. As I said, a trip further into this hellhole is not in my best interest."

"We'll put our heads together, Captain. Hopefully, we'll think of something," was Maddock's answer.

Newkirk walked over to the table. "Pardon me, sir. But have you heard anything about the bombings in England? I'm from the East End. A lot of us are getting sick from worrying."

"Don't blame you, Corporal. I'm worried for my family as well." Marceau sighed. "I wish I had good news for you. But the Jerries have been sending planes over every night. I'm afraid civilians are also bearing the brunt of this war. Don't you have access to a radio?"

"Not yet," Maddock answered. "We've got some men working on it. We're getting close, but so far the equipment hasn't been reliable. We are just using what we have in camp, of course."

"Well, I can take a look tomorrow if you'd like. I used to be an amateur wireless operator. I'm afraid you'll only be able to hear, but not transmit."

LeBeau stepped forward. "About that, sir. You hid for some time. Is there some form of organization operating in France, or is it just random resistance cells? Maybe Belgium or the Netherlands? Is there any way we could get in contact with them? We need certain items if we ever want to escape. We have the silk maps of Germany, some compasses. You know the stuff they fitted air crews with. But that's not much of a help."

"Escaping, if you want to do it properly, will take a long time. You need civilian clothes, papers, photos, food, many things. It's a difficult proposition, especially inside Germany. If you were in an occupied area, that would be different, but even so, I got caught. And others have as well. But yes, the French are helping, at great risk to their own lives. And there are collaborators to worry about as well. As I said, that's how I got turned in." Marceau spat on the ground.

"As for Belgium and Holland. I don't know. It's easier to hide out in France because there is more open space. Holland is densely populated and has a lot of open terrain, as you know. It would be harder to hide activities, I would think. And they are surrounded by Nazis. I also heard they aren't letting any Dutch near the coasts. It's easier to control a smaller area. Belgium?" Marceau shrugged. "It's small as well. For now, I'd bet my life that our best chance is hoping that the French resistance becomes more organized. But I have to tell you something, Louis, and the rest of you. Back in June, the 18th, I think it was. General De Gaulle made a speech. We heard it. He asked the French people to continue to fight, to resist."

LeBeau's eyes swelled with tears. Newkirk patted his friend on the back. "Steady mate."

"We are all trying. There's free French, Czechs, Poles, even some Irish are helping out, if you can believe it. Any victory, no matter how small is worth it." Marceau smiled. Now, if you don't mind, I am very tired."

"Of course, sir. Right this way. We've made room. My aide moved to another hut temporarily. I'll bunk out here so you can have some privacy." Maddock said.

"No need, Sergeant. Formalities have a place, yes. But some are more important than others."

"As you wish, sir."

The door closed behind the officer, and after a while sounds of snoring could be heard coming from the private room. A few of the men went back to their own barracks, while the residents of Barracks Two, plus a few members of Maddock's staff, gathered around and began to discuss their newest comrade.

"Poor bloke," Newkirk commented. He walked over to the sink and began rinsing out the mugs. "To hide for so long and then get caught."

"I think there are some things he's not sharing," Maddock replied.

"I agree," said LeBeau. "He's hurting. I can tell. May be his interrogation, and definitely being turned in by collaborators is probably what's bothering him more than anything.

"It would be horrible to have him sent to that other camp," Deschamps, the other French prisoner, noted. "We should try and do something."

Maddock, now seated at the table, played around with a pencil as he mulled over the problem. "Wish we could intercept those transfer orders."

"If we did, then what?" asked another prisoner, Sergeant Glassman. "Klink knows he has to go. He's just waiting for another load of men to be sent southeast. They won't send just one man all that way. It has to be worth their while, and be cost-effective."

Maddock turned and faced Glassman. "How do you know that?"

"I overheard Schultz and another guard discussing it in the outer office when I was picking up garbage."

The men in the room laughed, and Maddock slapped the sergeant on the back. "Good thinking! Looks like your German lessons have paid off, Newkirk."

"That and it's close to Yiddish," Glassman replied. "What's even better, is I threw the garbage there myself! And the guards didn't bother shooing me away. As long as I looked busy, they didn't care."

"Seriously?" Maddock shook his head. "Will wonders never..." he was interrupted by the lookout at the door. Any time clandestine activity was discussed, all barracks were required to have a lookout. It was plain common sense, but Maddock decided you coulnd't be too careful, and he made it an order.

"Schultz coming."

"All right, we'll discuss this later". Maddock quickly put the maps back, and shoved the footlocker over the board.

"You know Maddock," Newkirk whispered. "I can break into the office and steal those orders." He stopped as the door opened. "What do you want, Schultz?"

Schultz was eating an apple. He was obviously enjoying his snack, and the smell of the fresh fruit made the prisoners' mouths water. He finished it, core and all, and swallowed. "Pardon me." Removing a handkerchief, he wiped the juice off his chin. "I have something for a few of you," he stated with a twinkle in his eye.

"Well, what is it? Hand it over?" Deschamps demanded.

Schultz reached into his jacket and removed several envelopes, which he held in the air. "Mail."

"I think I have something!" Katerina held her head close to the battery operated radio she had been working on. Germans illegally listened to the BBC, but she and her friends were hoping to get more equipment working and to store it, along with other items, in the mine tunnel. The radio was crackling, but voices could be heard on the other end. She waved the men over. They crowded around, and they too could make out the sounds of the BBC.

"I feel safer listening in here than at home," Katerina stated with a smile.

"Definitely," Otto concurred. "We still have a lot of work to do."

Katerina turned off the radio and moved over to another small table set up along a far wall. There were piles of clothes to sort through, a donation made by an elderly Scandinavian couple who seemed to have a secret way of acquiring fabric and, to their surprise, several complete sets of German uniforms. She began sorting through the pile, brushing dirt off some of the clothing, and folding the fabric, placing the material neatly on a shelf attached to the legs of the table. Meanwhile, the men continued the slow and tedious work of digging into the ceiling, hoping to show signs of breaking through into the dog pen.

A clank stopped everyone in their tracks. Hercules stopped his work, stepped down from the small ladder, and rubbed the sweat off his brow. "Looks like we hit the doghouse," he said. The rest now hurried over.

"You sure?" asked Otto.

The younger man grabbed a small spade and hopped back onto the ladder. He carefully and slowly began to move some of the dirt around, tossing bits and pieces onto the floor. Several days earlier, prisoners had snuck out of their barracks at night, and had undertaken the dangerous mission of loosening the dirt underneath the house. Fortunately, as they suspected, no one would expect any prisoner, in their right mind that is, of going anywhere near the dog pen, much less inside of it. The combined work on the earth helped Hercules, and after a few minutes he broke through. Now, the next step was to build a ladder leading from the doghouse into the mine tunnel, and to somehow install hinges on the back of the doghouse so that it could move in an easier fashion.

"Looks like we are in business," Oskar said. He felt triumphant and vindicated. His next step was to notify Helga and the prisoners that their combined work against the Nazis could continue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a bit of a rough go, as Newkirk would say. As some of you may have read on the forums at fanfiction.net, I was having difficulty with technical details...namely the radio, dates, and geography as well. (Thanks to Konarciq for pointing that out to me..again! By now, you'd think I would remember where Belgium and Holland were, in relation to Dusseldorf). I hope I dealt with the geography issue to everyone's satisfaction. Based on the small amount of research I did on the resistance movements in the 3 countries (Belphegor did a great job with that on her latest story..see fanfiction.net) the explanation that Marceau gives is hopefully pretty factual.
> 
> At this time in the war, the resistance in France was mainly in the north. By now, there were already papers being printed. De Gaulle did make that speech. In May of 41, the first SOE agent dropped into France, so I'm a bit ahead of the game here. MI9 was the British agency responsible for escape and evasion...helping soldiers make it back to England. There was a 50 percent chance of making it back to allied lines. During the war, more than 5000 men were helped by 12,000 French civilians. Most of the information came from historynetdotorg, as well as other sites on the web. I still have to work out the radio details, which is way over my head, but for now, I wanted to move the story forward.


	15. "This Could be the Start of Something Big."

"What's in a Name"

Chapter 15

"This Could be the Start of Something Big."

Newkirk had arrived in camp with a larger group of prisoners who had been processed in the compound. There was no meeting with the Kommandant in the office, no lecture, and no interrogation. So tonight, Newkirk was about to make his first trip into forbidden territory. It was a fairly simple procedure to leave the barracks, avoid the guards and searchlights, and reach the Kommandantur. Once there, the corporal hugged the outside wall and waited for the guards patrolling the exterior to leave. He had a small window of time to break into the building and enter the interior. Once inside, he checked that the blackout curtains were closed, then lit a lantern and placed it on Helga's desk. There was no sign of the transfer orders there, so he headed into Klink's office.

As Newkirk's eyes adjusted to the dim light, he spotted the safe by the wall and grinned. "You're next." He headed over to the desk where he found a large envelope marked courier. He opened it, found what he was looking for, and put the transfer orders in his pocket. Thankfully, there was no need to replace the missing paper, as there were other papers inside. Curious, Newkirk decided to see what the Kommandant was up to. Most of the paperwork was mundane, but one form caught his eye. "Now that could be useful." Quickly, Newkirk rifled through the stacks of forms on Klink's desk. He picked up several and took them as well. Realizing he had spent enough time in the office and was tempting fate, he decided it would be prudent to leave. Breaking into the safe would have to wait for another night.

Newkirk gleefully regaled the men back at the hut with his tale of adventure, including how easy it was to break into the Kommandant's office unnoticed. "Fortunately, the blackout curtains were already shut," he told them.

"We couldn't see any light coming from there," Maddock assured him.

"Well, not only did I get your transfer orders," Newkirk said, "but I also discovered a few other useful items. Klink won't miss these. There were plenty of them all around the office. Blank requisition forms, transfer forms, and letterhead. Of course with the incorrect Stalag number on there."

Everyone laughed.

"Seems the wrong Stalag number has been awfully lucky for you folks," Marceau noted.

"Maybe we can order better food," Deschamps said hopefully.

"Or better supplies. I'd cook the food here. It would be delicious," LeBeau added.

"On this stove?" asked Maddock.

"Of course. All I need is one pot and a decent paring knife," LeBeau explained. "I was a chef before the war," he told Marceau.

"Good skill," the captain said. "You know, the forms are useful, but you need to be able to forge Klink's signature."

"Not a problem, sir," Maddock said. "We already have that skill down." Oskar had given Maddock a sample of the Kommandant's signature, and several of the prisoners had practiced the forgery until it was perfect. "Should come in handy when we start making plans for our escapes."

"How about a typewriter?" Marceau continued.

Maddock nodded. "Um, that is one thing we're missing. Maybe we should requisition one." He rubbed his chin. "Except that we will need to type the requisition form to requisition the typewriter we need to type the forms."

Now that the tunnel entrance beneath the dog house was completed, work on the tunnel moved at a quicker pace. Every piece of spare wood, some of it stolen from the work on the new VIP headquarters, was taken down there, as wood was needed to shore up the walls and ceiling. Although the dog house entrance worked, it was still dangerous, so a branch leading from the main tunnel to Barracks two was started. Prisoners only went down at night to dig, so completion was expected to take quite some time.

Meanwhile, supplies continued to appear. Along with the fabric and uniforms, the underground brought over rations, photography and electrical equipment, paper, whatever weapons they could find, and finally, a small typewriter donated by Helga. Anything that could be used for a future mass breakout was brought over.

The prisoners and their allies were concerned with one prisoner. Eventually, Klink and the other Stalag 13 would realize that Captain Marceau was still in residence. By now, a week after Newkirk had stolen the transfer orders, Marceau had been fully briefed on what was hidden underneath camp, and the help provided by the dog handler and his friends.

He and several other prisoners were in the tunnel discussing future escape plans, and ways to get Marceau safely out of the camp without risking the lives of the other prisoners. The British captain, who initially thought upon inspection of his temporary home, that he would be able to successfully escape the enlisted men's camp and make his way back to England, wondered if he should follow his own advice. He had told the prisoners that escaping was a difficult and dangerous procedure, and that the chances of success had to be high. Taking unnecessary risks, he feared, would endanger the other prisoners and their civilian allies. However, the other prisoners were enthusiastic, and willing to brainstorm. He decided to hear them out.

Sergeant Maddock was seated at the main table, the pencil in his hand moving up and down between his thumb and index finger as he looked closely at the maps laid out in front of him. The low light bothered his eyes, and he rubbed them and pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to ward off the headache he knew was coming. Marceau and Maddock had dismissed the workers a short time ago, figuring the less other prisoners knew, the safer they would be.

Newkirk and LeBeau were working as best as they could on sewing civilian suits with the material given to them by the underground cell. Not only was the material better than the blankets they were planning on using, but as Oskar told them, it was important to keep any blankets in the hut, as the barracks would probably be very cold in the winter.

This suit looks like it would fit you, Captain." LeBeau brought over a pair of slacks he had repaired.

"Thanks, LeBeau." Marceau smiled.

Maddock looked up. "You know, sir. There's a blind spot over by tower 4. It would be simple to cut the wire. We've got the tools. We are willing to deal with the consequences if you want to slip out. At this point, I don't have any other ideas." Marceau had already turned down the idea of using the tunnel. If he was caught, it would be safer and less suspicious if the Germans would discover the cut wire.

Marceau took a deep breath. "It may be the only option," he said softly. "God, Switzerland is a long way. I still think France is a safer bet. It's closer."

"Your choice, sir. You have the maps and a compass," Maddock noted.

"But no papers."

"Find me a French collaborator, and I'll get their papers." LeBeau sniffed in indignation, as he hung the suit meant for Marceau up on the rack next to the German uniforms.

"And how are we going to do that, Louis?" Newkirk asked.

LeBeau shrugged. "Maybe go into town and steal them."

Maddock stood up. "That's crazy. No one is going into town!"

"What's the worst that could happen?" Newkirk asked. "I would just say I'm an escaped prisoner, and I'd be brought back to camp. Like the captain, here."

"You volunteering?" LeBeau poked Newkirk.

"I speak the best German," Newkirk replied. Holding the sleeve of the shirt he was working on, Newkirk snipped the thread and held it up. "Done. Nice job if I do say so me-self."

"It's too bad we can't forge transfer orders sending the captain someplace besides the other camp," LeBeau said as he grabbed another piece of material to work on.

"That would be simple, but I doubt the Jerries would follow that order," Marceau noted.

Newkirk pulled a Wehrmacht jacket off the rack and slipped it on. "I have orders to pick up Captain Marceau and drive him to Switzerland," he said in German.

"Come again?" Maddock asked.

"I said. I have orders to pick up Captain Marceau and drive him…" Newkirk paused. "We have the transfer orders to Hammelburg."

Maddock stared for a moment. "I think I see where you're going, Newkirk. What if his ride comes through? But somehow, we provide the ride."

Maddock's epiphany stirred up the prisoners and they sprung into action the very next morning. There were several problems. The first one was getting a vehicle. The second one was deciding who would impersonate the German soldiers. The prisoners feared one of their men risked being recognized. Theu realized the key was the underground cell. Would they be willing to don the uniforms, drive into camp, pretend to be soldiers, and drive out with Captain Marceau? It was a dangerous move, more dangerous than anything they had previously accomplished. If the resistance cell succeeded, they would have to hide the captain until they could figure out how to smuggle him out of the area.

The prisoners and Schnitzer had developed a set of signals. A certain piece of laundry would let the vet know that an urgent meeting was needed, and a prisoner would sneak into the van. A cap worn by the vet would mean the same thing, or that a note was left in the tunnel or in a dog's collar. Communication was frustrating, as it was not instant, and it had to rely on Schnitzer's schedule, or the occasional visit by Otto, who sometimes showed up with fresh produce.

However, the plotters considered this dilemma urgent, so Maddock headed over to the Kommandant's office. He slipped Helga a note and then waited to be seen.

"I have a simple request, Kommandant." Maddock stood ramrod straight in front of Klink's desk. Maddock understood that more than anything, the Kommandant wanted respect. Of course, as an enlisted prisoner, Maddock already showed deference to the superior officer. But, he was quite accomplished at laying it on thick when necessary. As he quipped to the men in his barracks, "it's easier to catch flies with honey."

Klink looked up and cupped his hands. "Simple? That's unusual. What do you consider simple, Sergeant?"

"We would like your permission to have a going away party for Captain Marceau, sir. Tomorrow night."

"Nothing else?" Klink asked.

"No, sir."

Klink nodded. "I don't see the harm, if he is still here, that is. But it's restricted to your barracks, and must not go past lights out."

"Understood, sir. Thank you." Marceau saluted and saw himself out.

"Fraulein," he said to Helga.

That night, the prisoners went down into the tunnel, and as they had hoped, Schnitzer, Otto and Hercules were waiting for them.

"What is so urgent?" asked Otto.

"We have an idea of how to save Captain Marceau, but we need your help." Maddock explained the urgency and the plan, and waited for the reaction.

The three Germans stood silent for several moments.

Finally, it was Schnitzer who uttered the first words. "Are you insane?"

"I think so," was Marceau's reply. The captain stood nearby, his hands clasped behind his back. "I told them that myself. I should probably wait for the transfer to go through, and try and get away before we get too far into Germany."

"That's even harder," Hercules commented. He grabbed a chair, sat down, and leaned back. "Without papers, you won't get very far, even if you say you're a French worker. I'll do it." Hercules stood up. "I'll wear one of these uniforms, drive into camp and drive out with the captain. I can get a friend to drive in with me. We hide the captain, and then try and get fake papers made up. I'm sure we can find a French collaborator working around here. We can steal their set."

"This is insane," Schnitzer repeated. "And now you're planning on robbing a civilian?"

"More insane than this tunnel underneath a prison camp?" Otto asked. "Look at all this stuff. Guns, cameras, uniforms. If we get caught, we're all dead or worse. Look at what you've done, Oskar. What if they discover the dogs aren't vicious killers? Or if your tunnel searching work is a scam? I'm with Hercules. It's worth a chance. And we have to start eventually forging papers, or helping these men with that task. They'll need them for the escapes. I say, we try."

"I appreciate it, gentlemen, but I won't put you at risk," Marceau stated.

"It's my choice," Hercules answered. "I'm working second shift tomorrow, so I can come for the captain in the morning." Otto nodded in agreement.

Marceau stood up and began pacing around the tunnel. The others waited patiently for the British captain to come to a decision. Finally, he stopped his pacing and addressed everyone in the tunnel. "In that case, I'm willing to give it a whirl. If it works, think of the stories I can tell my children. One other thing. I promise, if I get back to England, I'll make contact with the authorities and let them know we have allies here, and that you need help. Hopefully, they can get you in contact with the French resistance. But only if you wish. If you want to remain on your own, I'll respect your decision."

"Yes," Oskar said. "We've discussed this as well. Different cells don't trust one another, and I imagine it may be the same in France. We're made up of Germans who love our country and despise Hitler and what has happened. We never wanted war. Hercules knows some communists, and also a few Jews who are also involved in resisting the regime. Any help...especially communications equipment and training, would be useful."

Marceau nodded. "Of course, I will see what I can do."

Oskar shrugged. "Well, if you are in, I'm in. But where do we get a vehicle?"

This was a conundrum, and the men spent quite some time mulling over the possibilities. Stealing a military car or truck was the obvious but most dangerous option.

Newkirk, who badly needed a cigarette, was pacing back and forth. "It's a shame," he said as he stopped by the uniform rack. "We've got cars and trucks sitting unused in the motor pool."

"How do we get the motor pool to give us a car?" Marceau asked.

"Simple," Newkirk answered. "Their car broke down. They are only taking you to Dusseldorf to meet up with another transport, and Hercules promises to bring the car back after we send you off. But will Klink cooperate?"

Maddock shook his head. "I don't know. What if he calls and asks to speak with their commanding officer to verify their identity? What if he says they can't have the car? What if he sends one of his guards with them?"

Oskar put his hand on the sergeant's shoulder and whispered into his ear. "You're doubting yourself, son. In the short time I've known you and these men, the words, what if...they haven't been in your vocabulary."

"Using the motor pool is too risky, and it won't be necessary," Hercules said quietly. "I can get a car or a truck. It's simple. I'll hot wire one. There are always men drinking and eating at the Hofbrau. In fact, they are probably still there. I can try and steal one tonight, hide it, and then use it tomorrow to take out the captain. Bring him right back here, drop him off and then leave the car on the side of the road somewhere. I can make it look like a couple of joy riders went for a ride."

"That seems as risky as using something from the motor pool," LeBeau stated. 'What if they start an investigation, and get the Gestapo involved?"

Hercules stood up and stretched. "Let's just say, I've had practice. Don't ask questions. Wasn't that part of our agreement when I joined up with you?"

Maddock smiled. "What if we just go ahead and hope for the best? Captain, I'm afraid your going away party has just been canceled."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: There are some very educational postings by our European authors on the thread I started on the forums. (see fanfiction.net, Hogan's heroes forums) I started by asking about radio issues, and it morphed into a discussion about how the resistance units formed and operated. It's under XIIIc. Radio and resistance. Also, I didn't believe these early heroes could acquire a vehicle from the motor pool this early in the game. My thoughts were confirmed by some other authors...thanks for your help and assistance. Goldleaf, Sgt. Hakeswill, and the entire PBA (Papa Bear Awards) committee.


	16. An Apple a Day

.

What's in a Name

Chapter 16

An Apple a Day

Captain Marceau's ride showed up the next morning. The staff never questioned the authority of the two soldiers sent to pick up the captain; after all, upon their arrival, they presented the appropriate paperwork to Sergeant Schultz. Klink admitted to himself that he was sorry to see the captain go, as having an officer in his camp could only increase his prestige. However, he realized that Marceau needed to be sent to his assigned prison camp; one specifically made for army officers, not enlisted airmen. As a courtesy, he notified Stalag 13 that their missing prisoner had been sent on his way to the larger staging area.

The captain's going away party was canceled. Hercules and his accomplice drove Marceau to the tunnel, where he spent the day in hiding. The staff car was deposited in a ditch on the other side of Hamelburg. They left it a mess, with empty liquor bottles in the back seat, and dirt and garbage all over the interior. Their hope was that the authorities would assume the car was stolen for a joyride. That night, Marceau left the area and began a long and dangerous journey that would eventually take him back to France.

Two weeks later:

Helga sighed and reluctantly knocked on the Kommandant's door. She knew he would not want to take the phone call. However, the officer on the other end was, as usual, gruff and persistent.

Klink was engaged in the never-ending, mind-numbing task of going through paperwork, and he welcomed the interruption. "Come in." He looked up at his secretary, and smiled. The smile quickly left his face when she told him who was on the other line. "Call for Schultz," he whispered. Helga nodded and left the office.

"Kommandant Klink, here. What a nice surprise to hear from you. It's been a while."

Schultz was just outside the office. He gathered his strength, entered the building, and along with Helga, walked into the Kommandant's office. The two could make out the yelling leaking out of the phone's receiver.

"He what? As I told you, he left here with two soldiers. All the paperwork was in order. I signed all the copies myself. Sort of like a package being sent out." Klink chuckled nervously. "Except it wasn't a package, was it? It was a person. A British captain, I mean.

"He never arrived, you say? Well that's not my problem; you see...He left the camp...

"He never arrived at the transfer point. But the other prisoners arrived at camp, as expected?

"So, somewhere between our camp, and the transfer point, he was lost. What happened to the two guards? I have no idea. No there were no air raids in the area, as far as I know...

"Yes, I agree it is suspicious, but again, once he left our perimeter, he was no longer under our jurisdiction. Yes, he must have escaped."

Klink puffed up in indignation. "It's been two weeks, sir. I'm sure he is no longer in the area, but if I hear anything, I will be sure to call you." He slammed down the phone.

"Captain Marceau never arrived at the transfer point, Schultz." He glared at the sergeant.

"As you said, Kommandant, Everything was in order."

"That is odd. What do you think happened, Kommandant?" Helga asked, attempting to switch the blame away from Schultz and on to someone else.

"It's nothing we did here. Our no-escape record remains intact. My guess is he escaped somewhere between here and there. Or there was an accident. Strange, the two guards appear to be missing as well." Klink shrugged. "The Gestapo has been notified."

"Did you tell the other Kommandant about the apples?" Helga asked.

Several days earlier, a large shipment of apples had shown up at camp. So large, the Kommandant ordered that two fresh apples be given to every prisoner. The guards each received three, while the kitchen staff was now working overtime making and canning applesauce. "No, I did not." Klink smiled wickedly. It was no secret that Klink had come to despise the bureaucrats at Stalag 13, and that the feeling was mutual. Misdirected shipments of useful items were considered fair game in both locations.

It wasn't long before the entire camp got wind of Marceau's supposed escape. Klink questioned Schultz about the guards who arrived to fetch Marceau, and was satisfied with the sergeant's assurances that the guards were legitimate.

Schultz mentioned the missing captain to Corporal Langenscheidt, who then expressed his surprise to the head cook. The head cook let the cat out of the bag to Corporal LeBeau, who was outside the kitchen hoping to trade some Red Cross supplies for ingredients to make apple strudel. Of course, LeBeau was fully aware of Marceau's escape, but he expressed the right amount of glee to the cook.

The smell of apple strudel wafted across the compound and put Schultz into a food trance. Like a bloodhound, he followed the odor to Barracks two. He opened the door and waltzed in. "What is that smell? It is wunderbar!" he exclaimed in a tone normally reserved for the schnitzel from his favorite restaurant in Hamelburg.

"It's apple strudel," LeBeau told the sergeant. He picked up a plate from the table and held it under the sergeant's nose. "You want to try?" he asked. LeBeau put the plate down and cut off a small piece. He handed it to Schultz.

The sergeant plopped the piece in his mouth and savored the flavor for several seconds before slowly chewing the piece and swallowing. A look of sheer, orgasmic pleasure came over his face; a look all of the men in the barracks had not seen or experienced in months.

"LeBeau, you are an artist," Schultz purred.

"Merci."

"He was a chef before the war," Newkirk stated.

Maddock sidled next to the sergeant. "Would you like another piece?"

"Oh, please."

"What have you heard about Marceau?" Maddock asked Schultz.

In between bites, Schultz began talking. "You all know he got away. It's all over camp," he said.

"Yes, of course." Maddock took away the empty plate and handed it to Deschamps, who plopped it in the sink.

Schultz wiped the crumbs off his mouth. "Our Kommandant and the Kommandant from the other camp had a conversation. Oh, they were angry. Helga and I could hear the yelling though the receiver, but we are not to blame. Captain Marceau has to be far away from here by now. It's been two weeks. Kommandant Klink told them everything was in order. The Gestapo has been notified, but we don't know where he is." Schutlz tilted his head. "Where do you think he is?"

"Far away from here." Maddock wiped some crumbs off Schultz's uniform. "I'll admit, we're happy he escaped, if that's what happened."

Schultz turned and addressed LeBeau. "Your strudel is better than my wife's." He bent down and whispered in the corporal's ear. "Can you make anything else?"

"If you get me ingredients. Spices. oh and more utensils. My friends come first, but I may be able to get you a taste, or a small portion."

Schultz stood up. "You are nice enemies. I will do what I can."

"Thanks, big guy." Maddock escorted Schultz over to the door. "If you hear anything else about the captain, you'll let us know?"

"I will let you know." Schultz left the barracks and walked over to the supply hut. The sergeant in charge was not there, but Schultz had a key. He let himself in and eyeballed the shelves filled with extra cooking supplies. Schultz had visited Stalag 5, one of the larger camps located within a day's drive. While there, he observed prisoners cooking their own food over the charcoal stoves placed in the middle of the long buildings used as barracks. He shuddered at the memory, for he knew that when winter arrived, the one stove would not provide enough heat for the large amount of men crammed into the hut. The men were using empty milk tins to heat up the food. The tins came from the Red Cross packages that supplemented the meager soup and black bread Stalag 5 offered the prisoners. He wondered if his boys knew how fortunate they were to be in a smaller camp, run by an admittedly annoying, but humane Kommandant. He grabbed some pots, pans, and utensils, and placed them in a box. As he walked across the compound towards LeBeau's hut, Schultz decided he would try and find more cooking supplies for the other barracks as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I believe I recall one scene in which the prisoners were told that cooking in the barracks was forbidden. But, that obviously is ridiculous, so I'm ignoring that. I've read numerous recollections of cooking in various memoirs, both in print and on-line.
> 
> for further information on barracks layouts, and use of Red Cross packages see: (take out the dot, slash and dashes, and replace with the symbols)
> 
> wwwdotmeddashdeptdotcomslasharticlesslashww2dashamericandashprisonerdashofdashwardashreliefdashpackagesslash
> 
> wwwdotb24dotnetslashpowslashstalag1dothtm


	17. The Winter of Our Discontent

.

What's in a Name

Chapter 17

The Winter of Our Discontent

The prisoners' and Underground's optimistic outlook, after successfully spiriting Captain Marceau out of camp, deflated after a seemingly endless winter settled over the prison.

The weather was miserable; the huts became cold and damp, the frigid wind piercing the numerous cracks found all over the poorly built structures.

The ground froze, and tunnel work stopped. Without this work to keep the men occupied and hopeful, the men became more depressed and sullen. They were also facing their first Christmas and New Year holidays as prisoners, and this made matters worse.

German speakers continued to give lessons, and forgery and sewing projects were brought up into the barracks; but tempers were short, and prisoners hoping for a mass breakout became impatient. This was dangerous. New prisoners were trickling in all the time, and several were obviously wire-happy. Despite warnings from Maddock and his staff, it was only inevitable that someone would make a break for it.

The second week of January, a small group of men were sent out in a work party to clear a road. Two British corporals, Munson and Blum, armed only with navigational skills, took the opportunity to sneak away from the others and head off into the woods. While they knew of the tunnel, they realized the other prisoners would know where to find them if they hid there. They headed south, keeping away from the road.

The other prisoners in the work party quickly realized the two men were missing. After a brief discussion, they decided there was no way they could turn in two of their own, and they waited to see the outcome. About a half hour after the two men took off, the prisoners were recounted prior to returning to the truck. It took several seconds for the guards to realize they had a huge problem on their hands. They panicked.

"I think we should notify the camp," suggested Adler as he stood guarding the other prisoners.

"I think we should wait and see if Brant and Dressler can find them in the woods," stated Garber. "Why make trouble if we can head it off first? Besides, who will they blame back at camp? Klink will have our hides when he finds out we lost sight of two prisoners. If they find them, we can report they ran, and we stopped an escape."

"I don't know." Adler shifted his feet in an attempt to stop his toes from freezing. "We'll get in worse trouble if we don't find them, and we didn't tell the camp. You! Do you know where they went? Was this planned beforehand?" He poked his rifle at Sergeant Wilcox, a barracks leader in charge of the work detail.

"Watch where you're poking that thing! And no, I don't know where they went, and no, this wasn't planned by any escape committee. You'd have to be insane to try and escape in this weather. And I'll tell you what. I hope they make it, but I don't want the rest of us being in trouble for what they did." Wilcox was fuming at the stupidity of the two Brits, and he was also wondering what the reaction of the escape committee would be when they returned to camp. He just hoped the two were bright enough not to head for the tunnel. What if they left footprints? He now wished they had alerted the two guards to the escape.

The two men were bright enough not to head for the tunnel, as they had already discussed, but their progress was slowed considerably by the snow, the uneven ground, and backtracking to cover up footprints. The German guards moved faster. After splitting up, one spotted what he thought was tramped down snow, and alerted his partner, who ran back to the truck to get another man to help. Now, three guards were searching, but they had no luck. Soon, they reluctantly agreed it was time to return to the truck and notify the camp.

Two guards continued searching, while the other two drove the other prisoners back. By then, the dogs had been let loose, and more guards were sent out to look for the escapees. Klink was livid; this was his first escape, and he was determined to recapture the men before being forced to call the Gestapo. While his guards were occupied, Klink interrogated Sergeant Maddock and a very cold Sergeant Wilcox.

"I'm telling you the truth, sir. We had no idea these two planned on making a run for it." Maddock was on the fence. Should he help the Kommandant recapture the two, not that he knew how. He knew they weren't in the tunnel. LeBeau had scrambled down there as soon as word came back of the escape, and there was no sign of the two inside or outside. Or should he root for the two and hope that their escape was successful. It was a conundrum. He was angry with Blum and Munson. Although they were new, they understood the rules. No escapes until everything was ready. He sighed. It was a difficult time for everyone, and some prisoners were antsy. His other concern was Klink. What type of punishment would the two face if they were caught? Would the other prisoners be punished as well? And if they were successful, would Klink face repercussions. Schultz had told the prisoners that conditions in other camps were not as humane. Maddock feared losing Klink. The better the devil you know, he thought.

"Sergeant Maddock. Any idea of where these two might have gone?"

He couldn't. "I have no idea where they might have gone, sir."

Sergeant Wilcox chimed in. "Sir, no one else in camp knew they had this planned. It's possible they didn't plan it either.. They probably saw an opportunity, and without thinking, took it. To be honest, if I knew, I would have stopped them. It's too cold to try something like this. They didn't have any supplies with them."

"I'm glad to hear you say that, Sergeant Wilcox. That is being responsible. We don't want to see anyone hurt. And they could get hurt. If a patrol comes across them, there could be shooting. I will warn you, however, that when they are recaptured, they will be sent to the cooler. Understand?"

Maddock nodded forlornly. He glanced at Wilcox, who nodded back. Wonder if the guards who screwed up will also be punished, Maddock bit his lip in frustration and concern, for it would be dark very shortly. They don't speak German, they don't have rations or papers on them. They're in uniform, and they'll freeze unless they find shelter. Hell, they don't even know how to find a friendly German. "Sir. If I was searching for an escaped prisoner, I would head south. They're probably heading in the direction of Switzerland." It was as good a guess as any.

"Well, that's obvious," snapped Klink. "I doubt they would be heading for Berlin."

As night fell, Blum and Munson realized they were in trouble. They were hiding underneath a small rock formation they discovered not far from where they had fled. They figured the guards would spread out further away, and not think to look close by. Their plans were to wait for the search party to leave or give up, then head south. However, the twigs and leaves they used to gather some warmth-they were too scared to light a fire-were not helping. Reluctantly, they decided to head back to the safety of camp and face the consequences. A stint in the cooler was certainly better than freezing to death.

The dogs, who were not familiar with these two newer prisoners, picked up the scent of the men they were tracking, and began barking. The men heard the dogs, and hands raised, walked onto the road and gave themselves up. As soon as the dogs recognized the right kind of uniform, they immediately stopped straining at their leashes and sat. Fortunately, the tail wagging went unnoticed.

Klink was relieved, and also proud of his search party and their canine partners. The fact that the prisoners heard the dogs, and left their hiding place of their own volition, seemed to not matter. His men found the escapees. He had trained the guards, and he would get the credit for the recovery of the two miscreants. Blum and Munson were each sentenced to thirty days in the cooler, and the guards responsible for their temporary escape received extra duty as a punishment. His report, which embellished the details, was sent off to General Burkhalter with the scheduled monthly paperwork.

"Helga," Klink said. "Our very first escape attempt, and it was foiled. You know, I heard that other camps in this district were not so lucky."

"Is that so, Kommandant?" Helga was getting tired of hearing the boasting from her boss, but she was a trooper, and she maintained the appearance of caring.

"Yes. Work parties were mainly the culprit. Prisoners slip away. But there have been incidents of men sneaking out through the fence and in the laundry. Could you imagine?"

"That's very daring, Kommandant. I can't imagine why they didn't search the laundry."

"It's plain common sense," Klink said. "Perhaps I should write a manual." He stroked his chin in thought, as Helga held back a giggle as the colonel's sense of importance inflated. She just hoped it wouldn't end up like the Hindenburg.

"Or give a lecture, Kommandant?"

Klink snapped his fingers. "You are brilliant, my dear. Take a memo for General Burkhalter."

Maddock and the escape committee spoke with each prisoner individually, and made it crystal clear that at this point, escapes would not be tolerated. The POW's were still under a military command structure, and Maddock expected the men to conduct themselves accordingly. They all vowed to obey the orders, and work together towards a more successful outcome. Meanwhile, word had come from Helga that Klink's ego had reached sky-high levels, and that hiding someone in the laundry, if for some reason a prisoner needed to get out of camp and the tunnel entrance was unusable, would not be wise.

LeBeau wasn't so sure. Since Schultz had provided him with extra cooking supplies, the chef's experiments with the meager rations, supplemented with food from the Red Cross packages, were paying off dividends. He discovered that Schultz was easily distracted, and could also be bribed for information. Other guards were also willing to open up about various issues. Who was on leave. Whose wife just had a baby. What was showing at the cinema in town. Complaints about how the restaurants were taken over by troops coming and going. All it took was a chocolate bar, a friendly gesture, a smile, or a thank you, and some of the guards began seeing the prisoners as human beings and not numbers. Others were still strict and considered dangerous, and the prisoners gave them a wide berth.

Schultz, more than anyone, was an easy target. As the Sergeant of the Guard, there was no way he would remove himself from the responsibility of handling Barracks two. That position was too lucrative. The residents quickly realized that they, more than anyone else in camp, could get away with things as long as Schultz was their barrack's guard. And so, if any real foul play had to occur, they were the logical choice to perform the duty. It also helped that Maddock, the MOC, lived there, and was willing to accept responsibility if anyone was caught, and that Newkirk, a man of many questionable but useful talents, lived there as well. They all kept this in mind, as they planned and plotted and tried to keep themselves busy until the spring thaw, when hopefully, their escape plans would move forward at a quicker pace.

Meanwhile, to keep the prisoners from going stir-crazy, the rec hall became a lecture hall, and prisoners began giving lectures in a wide variety of subjects. Art supplies sent by the Red Cross were distributed, and the men started painting, making pottery, and trying their hand at knitting. Several musical instruments showed up, and variety shows were held; even Klink and Helga attended. This gave the Kommandant an incentive to begin playing his violin; he had been too busy and distracted to touch it since his arrival. Fortunately, the entire camp got a welcome reprieve when the Kommandant joined the Hamelburg Quartet and attended rehearsals in town. (1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> p>(1) Season 6, The Big Record. There are photos, numerous records, memoirs etc that show or discuss the various ways POW's kept themselves occupied. Everything I mentioned in the last paragraph (besides Klink's violin playing) actually took place in real camps. We also heard pottery mentioned in the show, saw the instruments and theater being performed.


	18. Ups and Downs

What's in a Name

Chapter 18

Ups and Downs

March, 1941

Oskar unexpectedly drove into the compound on a windy March morning and headed right for the dog pen. His signal was noticed by a group of prisoners attempting to hang laundry. Unfortunately, an unusually eagle-eyed Schultz also witnessed the unscheduled stop, and he walked over to the van.

"You're not supposed to be here, Schnitzer. Ground's still a bit frozen; doubt there are any tunnels to sniff out." Schultz attempted to see around the veterinarian and peek into the seats in front.

Schnitzer grumbled. "Not here to look for tunnels. One of the dogs is sick." He noticed Maddock coming out of his barracks and walking towards the van.

"I didn't know that. I didn't call you."

Why is this big oaf suspicious all of a sudden? "You didn't, no. But someone else did. Now if you don't mind, I have to go in and check. You may want to step back." Schnitzer looked around, and whispered. "You certainly don't want to be anywhere in this area. Sick dogs can be vicious. Even to friends like you. I hope it's not rabies," he whispered just loud enough for Schultz to hear.

Schultz barely had time to mention that he was definitely not a friend of any of the dogs, but a wary partner. The vet opened the gate, and headed towards the dog house. Schultz quickly backed away.

As Maddock slowly approached, he could hear Schultz warning the other guards to stay away from the pen while the vet worked. But, too many eyes were watching, and Maddock needed a diversion, which fortunately was provided by the men in the compound.

"Hey, you knocked down my shirt!" shouted one of the prisoners. The knocking down of the shirt was an afterthought.

"I didn't touch your clothes." The man next to the first continued fighting with his clothing as it flapped in the wind.

"Yes, you did. I saw you," said another.

"Take that back."

"Make me."

Within seconds, guards were rushing over to break up the fight. Maddock saw his chance and hurried into the back of the van. Schnitzer left the dog pen and hopped into the back as well.

"We should be safe for a bit." Maddock stated. "What's so urgent?"

"We're going to lose the tunnel entrance," Schnitzer told him. "We have to seal it off. I just got word that part of that area is going to be cleared to put up a new checkpoint. The guards are going to be too close. We have to collapse that part and hide the entrance so the authorities don't get nosy."

"Well that just about ruins my day." Maddock sighed. "We'll be able to get in, but we can't get out."

"And we're also basically locked out." Schnitzer sighed as well.

"Well, I best be going. I have part of a tunnel to collapse." Maddock paused. "We'll need to find a better way to get out of camp if necessary. And there's been some progress on the tunnel to my barracks, now that the weather is a bit better."

"We're already scouting around for another exit." Schnitzer patted Maddock on the shoulder. "Just a temporary setback. We'll get through this. I have to run. I have a group of men ready to work on camouflaging the outside entrance as soon as it's dark. Good luck."

"You too." Maddock opened the door a notch, and seeing it was all clear, hopped out. He ran over to the melee in the compound and began helping the guards and other prisoners sort out the mess. At the same time, Schnitzer grabbed a medical bag and went back into the pen, where he checked on a few of the dogs for several minutes.

"I don't know what came over them, Schultz." Maddock was walking Schultz and the other guards away from the area. "Cabin fever?"

"Cabin fever?" asked the guard.

"Tired of the weather. Makes you need to let off steam. You know how that is."

"Ah yes. I have children." Schultz nodded. "I'll think about letting this go."

"I think LeBeau may be cooking up something special tonight." Maddock waited.

"I'll let this go," Schultz said. "I should check on Schnitzer. It's my duty," he said without enthusiasm.

"You do that." Maddock patted the sergeant on the shoulder and headed into the hut.

Schultz headed towards the dog pen, cautiously slowing down as he neared the area. Schnitzer spied the guard's approach, and finished his examination of Heidi, a female he had picked at random. He closed the gate to the pen behind him, just as Schultz arrived at the van. "It's all right," Schnitzer told Schultz. "False alarm. Probably something she ate off the ground gave her an upset stomach."

"No rabies?" Schultz asked as he peeked into the pen. One of the dogs growled, and Schultz stepped back.

Schnitzer couldn't help but smile. "No. No rabies. I'll be back in a few days as usual." Lowering his voice, Schnitzer then told Schultz, "Now that the ground is softening, I may start my inspections, if you get my drift."

Schultz nodded. "My lips are sealed."

It was a morose group of prisoners that gathered around the table in the common room of Barracks two later that morning. Present were all of the barrack residents, plus those who had been working on tunnel safety, design, and digging since relations between the prisoners and Oskar's Underground cell had begun months ago.

"Did Oskar give you any idea of how we are supposed to collapse that area?" asked Scott Bellows, the miner from Newcastle. "Just digging and shoving dirt over there, not only will take a long time, but it would look fake. I suggest an explosion. I'm sure we can make something simple out of the supplies and weapons we have down there."

"A small explosion would do the trick," said Demitri Foss, the Norwegian engineering student who, with Bellows, comprised the committee of tunnel experts that supervised the other prisoners who did the grunt work. He circled a few spots on the drawing. "Perhaps, here and here. It has to be small, so it's not heard or felt, but big enough to work."

"And so none of us get killed in the process." Maddock added.

Bellows laughed. "Don't worry about that. I like the skin I'm in. That should be enough to get started. If we're lucky, it will shove up against the main entrance in the woods, and look like it was never touched. Hopefully, they won't be curious enough to start digging."

"If they do, we're in big trouble," Newkirk pointed out. "You said Oskar's friends will try and hide the entrance?"

"Yes. They've been great so far. I trust they will do a good job. And since no one knows about the plans anyway, they shouldn't be looking for it. As long as they don't decide to dig into the hill to build a shelter or something. Oh, and he also said they will search for an alternative entrance. We'll have to dig into it, of course. "Right." Maddock, who had been leaning against the wall next to his door, walked towards the center of the room. "We've got work to do. Bellows, Foss. You'll sneak into the tunnel as soon as the coast is clear, and set the charges, then come back up. We'll have to head down there after the last roll call to set off the explosion and do the work."

That night, a larger than normal crew hid behind barriers on the far side of the tunnel, while Foss lit the wire that would set off the rudimentary explosives he had jury-rigged from supplies the Underground had stored in the tunnel.

"Not sure what they were planning on doing with this stuff," Bellows told Maddock.

"Sabotage?" the MOC answered. "Bet they were hoping to throw a spanner in the works. Being a nuisance would at least give them the feeling they were doing something."

"It's bonkers, if you ask me," Newkirk commented. He couldn't help but cringe and attempt to sink into the ground as the flame got closer to the explosives. His friend LeBeau was already curled up in a ball. Newkirk wondered where this could lead. The goal was to have everything set up for a mass escape. Now, he felt that with setting off an explosion, the prisoners and Underground were heading into new and dangerous territory, and it made him uncomfortable. "They could get themselves killed. Maybe have reprisals."

"Get down," Bellows, who was peering over the table, said calmly.

There was a small rumble and an almost imperceptible tremor. The guards assumed there was an air raid. Klink and his staff were fast asleep and didn't notice. Only the small group of men busy camouflaging the old mine entrance in the woods knew what had occurred on the other side of the wall.

Later that night, Oskar and a new member of the cell, the owner of a small florist located in Hamelburg, drove into the woods. "Well?" Oskar asked.

The florist walked around with his lantern for several minutes. He eventually shook his head. "Can't find it."

"Good." Oskar was satisfied with the work. Unless you knew exactly where to look, the mine entrance had disappeared. He was confident that the prisoners work on their end would be completed in the same manner. "Let's go home and get to bed."

Oskar was roused early the next morning by his wife, when two unexpected visitors, a man and his cat, showed up at the door. Greta, Oskar's wife, was reluctant to awaken her husband, as he had come home past midnight, exhausted. But, he always made time for emergencies, and the stranger was persistent and obviously upset that his cat was ill.

"What seems to be the problem?" Oskar stifled a yawn as he gazed at his visitor. The man, who appeared to be in his mid-thirties, was as Greta would say, nondescript. He was dressed in casual clothes, and looked healthy. For that matter, so did the cat.

The cat's owner placed the crate on the floor and removed the bored feline. He held it snugly across his chest, and adjusted the weight as the cat licked its paws.

"He's not himself, doctor. Name's Reuter. Frank Reuter." He removed one arm from beneath the cat's torso, and held out his hand.

Oskar ignored the overture. "Bring him in to my examining room."

Reuter dutifully followed the vet into the small room off to the side of the waiting area, and placed the cat on the large table in the center of the room. The cat blinked and stretched.

"What's the cat's name, Mr. Reuter?" asked Oskar as he picked up a stethoscope.

"Marceau. Named after a close friend of mine. He recommended you and your organization."

Oskar almost dropped the stethoscope. "I don't have an organization. I'm just a sole practitioner."

Reuter reached into his pocket and handed a folded slip of paper to the vet. "You are right to be suspicious, doctor. We anticipated that. The recognition code?"

Oskar opened up the paper and read the contents. It was a simple shopping list he and Marceau had set up before Marceau was sent along the escape route. What if Marceau was recaptured and talked? No, that was unlikely as Klink would have been notified. He had to take a chance and trust this man.

"Yes, that is correct. Who are you?"

"I am with an organization that is helping local resistance movements. Captain Marceau was able to make it back to England and managed to get it across to the right authorities that your people could use some assistance. We're working with the French resistance, and an experienced group will be setting up close to this area. They will help you out with communications equipment and training."

The cat meowed and Oskar stroked the animal. "I'm shocked," he said. "And the prisoners? Keeping in regular contact with them has been complicated."

"They can continue with their escape plans. We should be able to get some emergency communication equipment set up, but only use it if absolutely necessary. We don't have an infinite supply of parts." Reuter pulled out his wallet. "Speaking of the prisoners. What is going on with the numbering system? Certain people in England are confused. Two thirteens. Two Hamelburgs. District 6."

Oskar shook his head. "I honestly don't know how or why it happened. But, without that mix-up, we wouldn't have found that tunnel, which by the way, is out of commission on our side at the moment." He explained the problem, which he told Reuter, was only temporary.

"Thank you, doctor, for helping on such short notice. If you would be so kind as to write up a bill, I will be happy to pay you. You've been most kind."

"I...Of course, Mr. Reuter. And please bring Marceau back if he has not improved in one week." Oskar continued with the charade, writing up an invoice complete with a diagnosis.

Hidden in between the marks Reuter handed to Oskar was a small piece of paper showing a meeting time and place, and a recognition code. Shortly after this eventful day, the Hamelburg Underground became more than just a small group of patriotic civilians who hated the Nazi regime and all that it stood for. They were now equipped with means of communication, weapons, and the training they needed to continue their fight. And the prisoners would also benefit as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I had to remove the large tunnel entrance. Obviously, that was not in the show. The SOE, (the organization Reuter was referring to) was formed on July 22, 1940,. and I moved up the date of contact to March, 1941 instead of May, 1941, which is when the first SOE agents were dropped in. As I said in a previous chapter, the British were sending agents into occupied territories in order to help resistance movements. I think it was clear (to me, at least) with the use of Tiger, Dubois, etc. on numerous occasions, that a nearby French resistance group may have been helping or advising the local resistance cells located near camp.
> 
> Thanks for all of your advice on the forum regarding explosives. I decided to forget the technical details, and deal with the plot. I would assume both Bellows and Foss would have the knowledge to work up a simple but effective means of collapsing that part of the tunnel


	19. Pardon Me Boy, Is This the Hammelburg Station?

What's in a Name

chapter 19

Pardon Me Boy, Is This the Hammelburg Station?

A civilian carrying a small suitcase and a large briefcase disembarked the first class car on the late afternoon train arriving from the east. He pushed his way through the crowd and gazed up and down the platform. It was obvious to anyone that he was looking for someone. Confused, he headed towards the waiting area, but his way was blocked by an overeager porter.

"Can I help you, sir?"

"Yes, this is Hammelburg, isn't it?"

The porter at the small station looked up at the sign, which was noticeable to anyone with working eyesight. The man asking the question was slight and well-dressed. He wore a fashionable lightweight overcoat and an expensive looking hat. Sensing a large tip was a possibility, the porter politely replied, "Yes, sir. This is Hamelburg. May I help you with your things?"

"Someone from the camp was supposed to meet me here." The man gazed out at the crowd. There was no one standing there holding a sign that said Herr Hauptmann.

"The prison camp, sir?" the porter asked. "That's not far. There is a motor bus that can take you. But you would most likely prefer a taxi. Shall I call one for you?"

"Yes. Do that." Hauptmann was annoyed, but he remembered to tip the porter before taking a seat in the back of the taxi that arrived at the station a few moments later.

"Where to, sir?" asked the elderly driver.

"Prison camp."

"Ah, that's not far. Is this your first trip to Hamelburg? I work for one of the premier hotels. The Hauserhof. Will you need a room after your visit?"

"No. I'm staying at the camp," Hauptmann replied curtly. "Is everyone in Hamelburg this talkative?" he grumbled.

"We're a friendly village," replied the driver who wondered if his fare got off on the wrong side of bed that morning. It couldn't have been the train ride that put the man in a bad mood. German trains were always on time before the war, and were still very reliable.

The car pulled up at the gates of the camp several minutes later.

"This can't be Stalag 13," Hauptmann complained as soon as he peered out of the window and got his first glance at the compound. "I was under the impression the facility was quite large. I have a scheduled meeting with the Kommandant and his staff, and I was supposed to have been met at the station by camp personnel." He handed the guard his orders and an ID.

The guard at the gatehouse looked at his clipboard. "I'm very sorry, sir. I don't have you down as an expected visitor." Seeing the look on the man's face, the guard added, "But, please go in. The Kommandantur is across the compound. You can't miss it." As the car drove in, the guard quickly rang the office. "Fraulein, a warning. A Herr Hauptmann is on his way, and he is not in a good mood. Said he had a scheduled appointment and that someone was supposed to meet him at the station."

Helga gulped. "Oh no, another mix-up. Thank you for the warning." She strode to the Kommandant's door and knocked.

Klink had his feet up on his desk, and was taking a short ten minute break before going back to work. He sat up and plopped in his monocle.

"Yes?"

"Kommandant, there is a man on his way in. Herr Hauptmann. Were you expecting him?"

"No," Klink answered. "From where?"

"I don't know, but I think he was supposed to go elsewhere. He said he had an appointment and..." Helga was interrupted by the obviously angry civilian.

"Jurgen Hauptmann. I was supposed to be met at the station by a staff car. Did you forget my appointment?" He stared at Klink for a moment. "This is not Stalag 13 is it? But they said at the station..."

"Herr Hauptmann, have a seat. Helga please get our visitor a beverage. I'm Kommandant Klink at your service, sir. May I see your orders?"

Hauptmann's eyes followed the secretary as she walked over to the highboy and set up a tray. "Here." He passed over the paperwork to Klink, and then sat down in the chair directly facing the desk.

Klink quickly perused the paperwork in front of him. "I'm terribly sorry, but I'm afraid there has been an error. Your train ticket was booked to Hamelburg, with one m, not the other Hammelburg with 2 m's. You see, there are two Stalag 13's. This has happened before. We can drive you back to town. There are several fine hotels..."

"I'll do nothing of the sort, Klink." Hauptmann paused as Helga handed him his drink, and he watched approvingly as she left the office. "Stay in a hotel in what looks to be a mere village? No. I'm traveling on the express orders of Minister Speer."

Klink choked on his drink. "Minister Speer?" he sputtered.

"Yes." Hauptmann reached for his briefcase and removed some more paperwork. "I might as well show you."

Klink read another set of orders. This paperwork designated Hauptmann as an emissary of the Ministry of Armaments and War, but it did not note the reason he was visiting a prison camp.

"I can put you up in our new VIP headquarters, sir."

"Who's in charge of this sector? And why do you have the same number as the other camp? That is awfully irresponsible." Hauptmann rose from his seat and walked over to the map on the wall. He peered very closely, and then finally found the spot. "I am way out of the way," he stated.

"Yes, that is why I suggested you stay overnight. General Burkhalter is in charge of this sector, sir."

Hauptmann stroked his chin and paced around the room for several moments. "Well, why waste a trip. Is he in the area?"

"I don't know, sir. He has an office in our village," Klink said. "Shall I try and contact him for you?"

"Why not?"

Klink picked up the phone on his desk. "Helga, please get General Burkhalter on the line."

Helga walked back to her desk and jotted down the visitor's name on a note pad. The name did not ring a bell, but the mention of Minister Speer sent chills up and down her spine. As she attempted to reach an aide in Burkhalter's local office, she made a mental note to let someone in the Underground know that a colleague of Speer was in the area. The minister and his department was never mentioned in her family's home. Many good and useful businesses had been taken over and reconfigured for military purposes. Schultz's toy factory, for example was now making weapons, and her father also worked in a military plant. These complexes were now targets for Allied bombs.

"Hello?" she asked as someone finally came on the line. "Kommandant Klink calling for the general. It's urgent. We have a colleague of Minister Speer here. What? Yes, I'll hold." Helga drummed her fingers on the desk impatiently as she waited.

"So, Klink." Hauptmann took another swig of Klink's brandy. "Then the Wehrmacht officer said, if it's Tuesday, it must be Belgium!" He guffawed at his own joke, and Klink joined in, mainly to be polite, as he didn't find the joke at all funny.

"Let me see what's taking Helga so long."

"I'll come with you." Hauptmann unsteadily rose from his chair, but stopped as the door opened.

Helga entered and began to read from her shorthand pad. "Kommandant. The general is not in the area, but his aide did speak with him and relayed the conversation to me. The general said to give Herr Hauptmann every courtesy and to cooperate with him. General Burkhalter is delighted that Minister Speer's emissary is here at our stalag, and that there is no reason to assume that we cannot provide the same service as the other Stalag 13. Will there be anything else, sir?"

"Thank you, Helga. You may go," Klink said.

Helga left the office, closing the door behind her. There was no need to eavesdrop. The Kommandant usually kept her updated on everything, and there was no reason to suspect that this instance would be different.

"Ah, splendid." Hauptmann clapped his hands. "Well then, this trip shan't be wasted. Klink, I will tell you why I'm here, even though I was supposed to be there. Never mind. Do you know that there are multiple towns in Germany with the same name? Not just two Hamelburgs. But I believe this must be the first instance of two identical stalags in two identical towns."

"Well, we are a Luft Stalag and they are not. And we are supposed to be Stalag 6, but all efforts to fix things have been stymied." Actually, Klink had neglected the issue for some time, but he supposed if things were quiet, he could reevaluate the situation. Meanwhile, he was relieved that the mood of Minister Speer's representative had improved.

"Oh. That does make a bit of a difference I suppose. You shall have to fill me in further about the details and how this mistake happened." Hauptmann reached into his briefcase and retrieved another sheet of paper. "These are actual signed orders detailing my mission. I am going around to various camps, and actually from what I've seen, this camp may be ideal. I think a smaller location might work better. Less prisoners walking about. The prisoners are easier to control, etc."

"Better for what?" Klink asked, thinking he didn't like where this was going. "Is the minister planning on taking over this camp to build weapons?"

"Oh, heavens, no. But you are on the right track. What's one advantage a prison camp has over other areas?"

Klink shook his head. "Prisoners? I'm not sure. No fighting, of course. Not that we need to worry about that here, do we?"

"Again, you are on the right track. It's a safe location. The Allies won't bomb prison camps for fear that they will kill their own men. So, what better place than to hold meetings of high-level personnel, and most importantly...and this was my idea, hide or test new weapons!" Hauptmann leaned back in his chair, flush with his own importance.

Klink was appalled. "But that's against the Geneva Convention. The weapons I mean. The meetings, probably not."

"Well, from what I know, Burkhalter has the ear of the Fuhrer, does he not?"

Klink glumly nodded. "Yes, he's not that close, but close enough, I suppose."

"Probably safer that way," Hauptmann said, chuckling. "Who cares about the Geneva Convention? Within a year, it will be torn up anyway. Besides, the general asked for your cooperation. This will bring prestige and more visitors to your little camp, Klink. I'm happy for you, and your staff." His eyes turned to the door. "If the rest of your staff is as efficient as your secretary, well...then this is the perfect place to start this program."

"Perfect place," Klink repeated. "Well, my staff is good. We've had no successful escapes, you know."

"Splendid." Hauptmann reached for his glass, which he found, to his dismay, was empty. "Oh," he mumbled. "Those orders are top-secret. They should go right in your safe."

Klink grabbed the sheet of paper, folded it, stuck it in an envelope and walked over to the safe. He dialed the combination and threw the sheet inside. The door closed with a loud clang.

Helga heard the faint clang of the safe. She stood up as the door opened. "Kommandant, is there anything else I can do for you and our guest?"

The guest smiled at the secretary. She smiled back as she wondered what was put in the safe.

"No." Klink looked at his watch. "I'm done for the day. We'll be taking a tour of the camp, and then I'll be escorting Herr Hauptmann to the VIP hut. You can shut down the office."

"Very good, Kommandant. Have a good weekend." Helga straightened up her area, then entered Klink's office. She tidied up the desk, and cleaned the dirty glassware. Realizing that there was a possibility she would not be privy to what was discussed, Helga glanced at the safe. She didn't know the combination...Klink was the only person inside the camp that had that information. However, Helga knew someone in the camp who would be able to get inside the safe.

The camp's resident safe cracker, Peter Newkirk, was busy contemplating how to get out of the camp in case of emergency. Now that the tunnel entrance was blocked, the Underground cell was busy preparing a new emergency exit, but the work on the tree stump they found was taking quite a while. The stump was close to the perimeter, and the men digging it out had to duck frequently to avoid the searchlights. Meanwhile, in order to reach the stump, a new branch leading off the main tunnel had to be cleared. The timing on completion was uncertain, but it was sure to take a while.

The Cockney corporal, along with several of his mates, hiked around the compound taking another look at the perimeter. The prisoners were planning to jury-rig the fence for use as a temporary exit. He spied Klink and Hauptmann walking towards them. "Allo, allo. what's this?"

"A Boche bigwig." LeBeau sniffed.

"Where'd you learn that word, Louis?"

"From you English," the Frenchman replied.

The prisoners stood at attention as Klink and Hauptmann passed.

"As you can see, sir, we have guard towers placed at standard intervals. Two sets of fences surrounding the perimeter. And our prisoners have been tamed." Klink continued to prattle on as they moved to another section of the camp.

"Here that, Louis. We've been tamed." Newkirk patted LeBeau's head.

LeBeau laughed and let out a quiet roar. "What are you doing?" he then asked one of the other men accompanying him.

Corporal Claude Mercier was down on his hands and knees, drawing angles in the dirt with a stick. A mathematics teacher before the war, the corporal had volunteered to help locate the safest spot in the fence to use as an exit. His idea was that by estimating the distances and sight lines of the towers, there might be one area that was not completely covered by the spotlights. He had already completed some preliminary work, and this would be his final walk-through. He replied to LeBeau in French.

"Angles," LeBeau stated. The other men quieted down and watched patiently. Mercier took out a pencil and a piece of paper, and while the group crowded around him, so that the guards wouldn't be suspicious, he jotted down some notes. He then wiped the dirt until the drawings disappeared. Standing up, he nodded and motioned for the men to follow him. The group then headed for Barracks two, where they made their report to Sergeant Maddock and the rest of the staff.

Maddock and the others were pleased, but one problem remained. How would they be able to get to the fence to perform the adjustment and engineering necessary to make part of it slide up and down? A mock-up with parts stolen from supply was already in the tunnel, so the men assigned to the project were familiar with their jobs.

"We have no choice," Maddock stated. "It will have to be done in stages. The inner fence will be done first. Then, you'll sneak under that, and do the outer part." Maddock walked over to the window and looked out. "Who's that civilian with Klink?"

"Not sure, " LeBeau answered. "But the Kommandant was making a big deal about how he has tamed the prisoners. He was definitely showing off the place. About the fence. The guards walk along the perimeter. We'll have to time their movements precisely, do the work in intervals and then keep under cover when they're around. It could take a while."

Maddock turned around and smiled. "Well, we're not on a set work schedule. It takes as long as it takes. I'll check with Helga tomorrow and see if she knows anything about Klink's visitor."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So the mix up strikes again. Luft Stalag 13 (not Stalag 13) gets the scientists, generals and weapons, and it will come back to haunt the Germans when Hogan gets to sabotage numerous weapon systems and steal lots of paperwork.
> 
> The first use of the camp to hide a weapon was in episode 3. "Kommandant of the Year." The Germans bring a rocket into camp, and Klink showed no surprise at his camp being used to hide a weapon. (The Tiger tank doesn't count, as Newkirk drove it in.) Hogan did explain to the men in the barracks that a POW camp was a safe place to hide a weapon as the Allies wouldn't bomb the camp. Continuity is a problem here, because I recall in other episodes that Burkhalter explained to Klink that a POW camp wouldn't be bombed.
> 
> The word bigwig has its origins in the 17th century when it was fashionable to wear wigs. The hair used to make up wigs were very expensive, and only the wealthy could afford the large wigs.
> 
> I have no rational explanation as to how the prisoners managed to jury-rig the fence without getting caught. But, I did my best. Either I'll never the finish the story, or my head will explode if I get too nit-picky with these details.


	20. Safecracker Suite: The Prequel

What's in a Name

Chapter 20

Safecracker Suite: The Prequel

Maddock's talk with Helga that morning worried him. For once, Klink had not confided in his secretary. All she could tell the sergeant was that a representative from Speer's ministry was touring camps, that he had accidentally shown up in Hamelburg, and that his unintentional visit had gone well. He had no choice but to ask Newkirk to break into Klink's office. "Get in, break into the safe, grab the document, and get out," Maddock ordered.

"Will do, Sergeant," Newkirk answered. "I had a look at the safe the first time I was in the office. Shouldn't take me more than a few minutes to get it open. Wish we had a camera. Then I wouldn't have to bring it back. Two trips to Klink's office in one night are a bit much."

"And where would we get it developed?" LeBeau poked his friend on the arm. "It's not like we can waltz into town and take it to the local pharmacy or photo shop."

"Maybe those French contacts working with Oskar's cell can get us a camera and someone to help develop the film. But for now, let's see what Klink put in that safe. I hope they're not planning on taking over the camp," Maddock said.

"I'm ready." Newkirk said. He and LeBeau, who would act as a look-out, headed for the door. The men in the barracks wished the two of them good luck and waited.

Both men were used to sneaking around the compound at all hours, and they were adept at avoiding the guards and the searchlights. On the way to the Kommandantur, they passed a snoozing Schultz and one of the dogs, whose ears perked up as the two prisoners approached. The animal's tail beat out a small rhythm on the dirt as LeBeau reached into his pocket for a treat, which he tossed to the dog.

"Look at that." Newkirk shook his head. "There's a prime example of the fearsome German fighting machine right there." Schultz snorted and the two men froze. "How did he get to be Sergeant of the Guard?"

"It was his war record, from the war to end all wars," LeBeau whispered. "He told me."

The two continued their maneuvers and finally breathed a sigh of relief as they reached the office. There was no guard standing watch on the front porch, an oversight obvious to everyone except the German staff. The only protection against unauthorized nightly break-ins was the guards walking past the front of the building at timed intervals.

This was LeBeau's first time inside the Kommandantur, but he had no time to look around. The two entered Klink's office and went to work.

"Piece of cake," Newkirk muttered as he heard the telltale click of the tumblers. He opened the door, and with the help of his flashlight, he rifled through the contents of the safe. "Found it," he said in a loud whisper.

"Good. Let's get out of here. This is making me nervous." LeBeau could feel his heart racing. Each new clandestine act he performed, and there had been plenty, was frightening. He couldn't deny that. But he fought his fears and moved forward. All the other prisoners expressed similar sentiments. Once they were safely back in the hut, he would experience a rush of adrenalin, and then calm down.

The men carefully retraced their steps and safely headed back into the hut.

"Any problems?" Maddock asked.

"No. But we did find Schultz on a bench, fast asleep. We could have grabbed his rifle. It was propped up next to him." Newkirk handed the sergeant a sheet of paper.

"Good ole Schultz," chuckled one of the residents. "Where would we be without him?"

Maddock glanced at the paper, "Hmm. On official looking letterhead. Looks like orders." He handed it back to Newkirk who read it over.

Newkirk grinned. "Good news. They're not looking to shut down these camps and take them over. And now the bad news. They may be having high-level conferences and meetings at POW camps, and they are planning on using camps to store or demonstrate new weapon systems. See, we won't bomb the camps, so they figure this is a safe place."

"That's got to be a direct violation of the Geneva Convention," LeBeau said after everyone calmed down.

"Well, I can't go complaining to Klink about this. Not until it happens," Maddock said in disgust. "Thanks, Newkirk. Take the letter back."

Newkirk and LeBeau successfully broke back into Klink's office and returned the orders to the safe. They were almost home free, when a large man pointing a rifle straight at them blocked their path. They both froze like deer caught in the headlights, and for once, neither had a ready quip on the tip of their tongue.

"What are you doing out here?" Schultz asked in that plaintive whine the prisoners found somewhat endearing. He lowered his rifle as he waited for an answer.

"Would you believe sleepwalking?" Newkirk replied.

"Both of you? Nein." Schultz shook his head and pointed the rifle at the two. Newkirk and LeBeau raised their hands.

"Fresh air," LeBeau blurted out. "It's a nice night, and you know how stuffy the barracks get."

Newkirk nodded. "We're sorry, Schultz. Didn't mean to cause any trouble. We'll go back."

"Halt!" Schultz tilted his head and eyed the two troublemakers suspiciously. "You're trying to escape," he stated.

"Oh, no. We wouldn't do that," LeBeau replied. "Tell you what. Forget this happened and I'll make you something tasty tomorrow, if you get me the ingredients."

"I have to make a report." Before Newkirk and LeBeau could stop him, Schultz blew his whistle several times. This attracted the attention of the other guards in the compound and the guards in the watch towers. The dogs began to bark, and within seconds, Schultz was marching the two miscreants over to Klink's quarters.

In the commotion, barracks doors began to open, and several prisoners filed out of the huts in defiance of the curfew. Meanwhile, Maddock hurried out into the compound.

"Look at the ruckus you caused," Schultz said. "Shame on both of you."

"What is this?" Klink cried as he left his quarters. He was tying the belt to his bathrobe around him as he looked around. Where are my officers? He wondered. All he could see were two prisoners, his Sergeant of the Guard, and groups of other guards and prisoners trailing behind them.

"Schultz, reeepoort!"

"Kommandant, I beg to report I caught these two prisoners outside in the compound. I believe they were trying to escape."

Klink popped his monocle into his left eye and approached Schultz and the two chastened corporals. "Names?" he asked.

"Corporals Newkirk and LeBeau," Schultz replied. "From Barracks Two," he added.

"In my office," Klink ordered. "Sergeant Maddock, you come to my office as well." He took another look at the two prisoners and shook his head at the futility of their attempt. They were still wearing their uniforms. What were they thinking? Well, he thought as he walked back to his quarters to get changed, escape attempts were to be expected. He pondered how it had happened. While Schultz caught the two miscreants before they got too far, Klink was upset that they had slipped out of the hut that Schultz was supposed to be guarding. He vowed to discuss this with him later. Klink yawned. He was sound asleep when he heard the ruckus, and he was not happy about being woken in the middle of the night.

"You are going to be in trouble," Schultz told Newkirk and LeBeau while they waited for the Kommandant to return. Maddock was also waiting with them, but so far, the MOC kept quiet. A quick nod from Newkirk confirmed that the mission was completed, so other than a possible sentence in the cooler, no harm was done.

"We're sorry," LeBeau answered. "Didn't mean to wake the Kommandant. You would think his staff officers would handle these things, wouldn't you?"

"Good point," Schultz grumbled. "I have no idea where they are, but I'm sure the Kommandant is very angry. You woke him up."

"You know, Schultz. You could be in trouble as well. After all, you weren't looking when we left the hut. In fact, I bet you were sleeping."

"Newkirk has a point there, Schultz," Maddock said.

"I...uh..." Schultz's mouth closed as the Kommandant entered the office.

"Well, gentlemen. No one escapes from Stalag 13...6. Luft Stalag 13. You know what I mean. Do you have anything to say?"

Newkirk stepped forward. "Yes, sir. First, this was just me and LeBeau. It was our idea. Sergeant Maddock didn't know anything about it. We were going to make a break for the fence and snip the wire with these." Newkirk removed the wire clipper Maddock had slipped him. "We found them by the delousing hut. A guard must have dropped them."

Klink grabbed the clippers. "Schultz, make a note of that. Go on."

"Schultz and his eagle eye. Caught us immediately." Newkirk snapped his fingers.

"I did? Yes, I did. As soon as they left the hut, I was on them riiighht away, Kommandant."

"Good work, Schultz," Klink said, although he didn't seem quite certain of the story. "Sergeant Maddock. This is very serious. Do you know that in some camps, the prisoners are locked in a night? The doors are barred from the outside."

"That seems inhumane, sir. What if there is a fire?" Maddock had heard of this. He prayed that tonight's escapades wouldn't lead to terrible repercussions.

"I agree with you. That is why I never implemented that procedure. As you know, I'm stern but fair. But, I depend on the cooperation of the prisoners."

"You'll continue to have that, Kommandant," Maddock said. "I will have a serious talk with these two as soon as we get back to the barracks." He saluted and made a move towards the door. Newkirk and LeBeau began to follow.

"Not so fast," Klink said.

Maddock, LeBeau and Newkirk turned around.

"Two weeks in the cooler. Schultz, take them away."

The three prisoners looked at each other. Maddock gave a little shrug. He was expecting a month's punishment for LeBeau and Newkirk. Hopefully, Klink would let the two out early if they behaved. He had done the same for the two men who had escaped from the work detail.

"Remember, Sergeant. No one escapes from my camp."

"Yes, sir." This time Maddock's salute was returned.

Klink looked at his watch and shuddered. "I'm sleeping in tomorrow. Someone else can oversee the roll call."

As he left the building he spied Captain Sunderman, the camp engineer, and another officer, finally hurrying over.

"Well, you two. You missed all the excitement."

"Sorry, sir. We were asleep and no one bothered to wake us up."

"No one bothered to wake me up either; but I heard the racket and came out." Klink glared at the two. "You should have been there. The men's punishment could have been doled out after roll call."

Having no reasonable response to what the Kommandant said, they remained silent. "You two can get up in a few hours and run the roll call. I'm sleeping in." Without waiting for a reply, Klink stomped off.

The following afternoon, he had both of the officers transferred out. After all, if they weren't competent enough to handle these middle of the night minor crises, what good were they? It would have been different if the men had escaped the perimeter, but they were caught red-handed inside the camp. The camp was not that large, and it ran smoothly. Schultz was an able enough Sergeant of the Guard, Helga made sure the office was in tip-top shape, and without their salaries, there was more money in the budget to spend on other essentials. If he needed another engineer, he could requisition one from Berlin. The maintenance staff would be able to handle day-to-day issues.

After seeing LeBeau and Newkirk settled into a cell, Schultz contemplated the early morning events. He had searched the two men, and found nothing on them to indicate that an escape was in process. In fact, he couldn't imagine how he had overlooked the wire cutters. They were still in uniform, they had no papers, money or food; no map or handmade compass was in sight. He was beginning to think the entire scenario was suspicious. They had not been sleepwalking, and going out for a bit of fresh air? That was a ludicrous excuse. They weren't escaping, but they were testing the waters; how good was the security at night? That had to be it. Now satisfied, Schultz went back to his quarters, had a snack, and went to sleep.

LeBeau and Newkirk looked around their home for the next two weeks.

"Nice for Schultz to put us together," Newkirk declared. "Blimey, it's cold. I know, don't say it."

"I promised him I'd make him a dinner," LeBeau said.

"Good thinking, mate." Newkirk went over to one of the cots. He gingerly sat down, and then tested the pillow. "I've got cards in one of my pockets."

"That's nice." LeBeau yawned. "I'm actually tired. Hey, you think you could break us out of here?"

Newkirk walked over to the door. He studied it for a moment; then shook his head. "Not this kind of cell. The door is bolted from the outside. There is no mechanism. Now, one of the open cells? That I could do." He looked around the cell and felt along the walls. "The window is too small."

"Let me see." LeBeau peered at the opening. "No bars, I might be able to squeeze through there."

"Don't get any ideas." Newkirk took a look at the sink. He tried the faucet, which spout off a trickle of cold water. "Cold water flat," he chuckled. "Better than the accommodations I had after I was captured."

"That's true." LeBeau frowned as he recalled the bad memories. "I wonder if we're over the main tunnel section? Wouldn't it be great if we could get out of here, if we wanted?

"To do what?" asked Newkirk.

LeBeau shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. Use the latrine. Take a shower. Get out in an emergency. Of course, you'd have to be put into the right cell. And then be back for bed check or a meal, or whatever they do to make sure you're here. We should dig a branch tunnel to the cooler."

"Why bother, Louis? We're going to be out of here soon enough. The way things are going, we should be ready to make our escape before winter." Newkirk removed the pack of cards from his pocket. "Gin?"


	21. With Friends Like These, Who Needs Enemies?

What's in a Name

chapter 21

With Friends Like These, Who Needs Enemies?

Late June, 1941

The plan to use Luft Stalag 13 as a host site for generals, gizmos, and gadgets was put on the back burner as spring headed into summer. Something massive was brewing, and Berlin bigwigs were hard to reach. On the rare times Klink's phone calls were returned, the Kommandant found the men on the other end of the receiver testy, touchy and closemouthed. He had forgotten when he had last heard from General Burkhalter.

"Well, how do you like that?" Klink slammed the receiver down. "I know there is a war on, but that is no reason to be rude." A lull in prisoner arrivals, plus a note sent by a confused lower-level clerk at the map department, prompted Klink to make another attempt at rectifying the numbering mistake; although, he was beginning to think that no one cared. He briefly thought back to his attempt at ordering new signs and stationery, a project that now appeared ridiculous. For, unless the change became permanent in Berlin, ordering signs, stationery, and forms would be like putting the cart before the horse. Klink tapped his pencil on the desk and contemplated his next move.

Maddock's attempted to get Newkirk and LeBeau's time in the cooler shortened. But his pleas to Klink failed, and they were forced to serve their entire sentence. During their incarceration, work continued on escape plans. The tunnels were continuing to expand, and the Underground delivered more supplies, including several cameras, film, fake dog tags and fake prisoner discs. (1)

A cheer greeted the two jailbirds as they entered the hut.

"Blimey, I'd never thought I'd be happy to see this lumpy mattress again!" Newkirk hopped up onto his bunk.

"How bad was it?" asked Erskine as he stared at LeBeau. "You don't look any different. Just a bit pale."

"I've been through a lot worse," LeBeau replied. "And thanks for sending in that extra food."

"Ah, Schultz was a pushover," Maddock said. "He felt bad. We made you some tea, Newkirk. Coffee for you, LeBeau. And boy, are we glad you're back. The mess hall food hasn't cut it."

"Ta." Newkirk hopped down and headed for the table. He took a sip of the hot liquid, and made a face. "It's hot." He smiled.

"I'm glad I'm appreciated," LeBeau drank part of his coffee, and then put down the mug. "Peter and I were talking. What do you think of digging a tunnel into the cooler?"

The men in the hut laughed.

"No. Seriously." Newkirk grabbed the pad of paper that was on the table. He removed a pencil from his pocket and drew a sketch. "We know where the cooler is in relation to the main room underneath. The engineers can do the final survey. But the room we were in had a sink that can be detached. We had running water, well, actually it was a trickle. But if you loosen the pipes a bit, the sink can be shoved aside. That could hide the entrance. The Jerries wouldn't think to check there. Just a thought. Of course, you'd have to dig up through the cement." (2)

"That's wacky enough that it might just work," Maddock commented. He grabbed a mug of coffee for himself and took a seat at the table.

"Well, we didn't have much to do." LeBeau took another swig of the coffee. "What's going on with the Boche? Seems like they're awfully skittish."

"Well," Maddock said as he began playing with Newkirk's pencil. "Klink's staff officers have been transferred. He was mad that they didn't come running the night you got caught, and then Helga told me the money from their salaries went someplace else, but she doesn't know where."

"We knew that," LeBeau replied. "Schultz told us that first thing the next morning. He was gloating."

"He looked like one of those puffer fishes. All blown up with his own importance," Newkirk added.

"Well, it's good for us. Especially getting rid of Sunderman. Don't need a German licensed engineer poking about and finding our moving fence. Let's see, where was I?" Maddock flipped the pencil and caught it. "Oh, right. They are skittish. Burkhalter has been gone for a while, and hasn't returned Klink's calls. There have been a lot of troop movements, so I've stopped practice runs outside the wire. And Klink started to deal with the naming issue again. Doubt he'll get anywhere. But, yeah. Even he confided in me the other day that his superiors are being rude and antsy. No one knows what's going on."

Hemsworth hopped off his bunk and joined the conversation. "It's the Americans, I bet. Maybe they're going to enter the war finally, and the Germans got word?"

"That'll be the day," Deschamps stated. "They were late for the last one, and they won't get into this one. No stomach for it."

"They are helping us as best as they can. Only so much the president can do," Levinson said.

"With old scows, and broadcasting from the Blitz. Lot of good that is," Hemsworth replied.

The men spent the next few hours arguing about American politics and what little they knew. (3)

Klink set his alarm for 0400 the next morning. Goebbels was making an important speech, and the Kommandant wanted to be fully awake and ready before turning on the radio. He ordered the off-duty guards to be up as well, and told Schultz to delay that morning's roll call until after the speech. This order did not remain secret for long, and soon the prisoners prepared to send Newkirk and a few other German speakers down into the tunnels to listen to the clandestine radio they had hidden down there. Maddock, who for the life of him couldn't get much further than basic German commands, remained up above.

Goebbels' speech consisted of a proclamation written by the Fuehrer. It took the prisoners several minutes to figure out what he was trying to get across to the German people. But once the gist of the speech became known, Corporal Spiegel hustled up the ladder and into the dog pen, Unnoticed by the few guards standing around, he hugged the walls of the surrounding barracks, and finally made it over to Barracks two. He slowly opened the door, stepped through the threshold and stopped as he tried to catch his breath.

"Oh, my God," were his first words. "Oh, my God," he repeated.

"Settle down." Maddock walked over to the door. "What happened?"

"The Jerries attacked Russia!" (4)

The mug of cocoa Klink was drinking shattered on the floor, the tendrils of hot liquid snaking underneath the rug. He looked up at Schultz, who had joined the Kommandant for the radio broadcast. The sergeant's mouth was hanging open in shock. Finally, Schultz found his voice.

"I thought we were allies, Kommandant!"

"I did so, as well, Schultz. But the Fuehrer explained his reasoning, so no questions." Klink looked at the sergeant. Their expressions both told each other what they were thinking, but were afraid to say.

For the prisoners in the huts, the news was greeted with both joy and confusion, for they could not understand why Hitler would even consider such a thing. Attacking the huge state did not end well for the last aggressors, and while they thought it would take some time to stem the massive tide of Germans, the Russians had land, men, and the cold on their side. The joy the prisoners felt was obvious, for now the German allies would be fighting on another front, turning their attention away from Britain.

"The enemy of our enemy is now our friend," Maddock said solemnly as he and his men wondered how this new chapter in the war would affect their fate, the fate of their captors and their plans of escape.

y

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Some POW camps took the captured men's dog tags and replaced them with identity discs that were stamped with the man's prisoner number.
> 
> (2) See the episode, "A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to London."
> 
> (3) Politics did play an important part in the "neutrality"of the United States. Roosevelt had to wait for the right time, and move slowly. Unfortunately, there was also a lot of antisemitism in the State Dept, and isolationism was very popular. But there were things that the administration did do. The Destroyer and Bases deal in September, 1940 transferred 50 old destroyers to Great Britain in exchange for the use of 8 bases owned by Britain in the Atlantic. The draft bill was enacted in September, 1940. This required the registration of all men between 21 and 35. The Lend-Lease plan started in November of 1940. This plan allowed the "lending" of military equipment to Great Britain for payment later. Britain was extremely low on cash at this point. The news organizations and Hollywood also played their part in trying to change public opinion.
> 
> In August 1941, FDR and Churchill agreed to war aims, self-determination, and condemnation of Nazism. (Atlantic Charter)
> 
> (4) Goebbels' first words. "At this moment a march is taking place that, for its extent, compares with the greatest the world has ever seen. I have decided today to place the fate and future of the Reich and our people in the hands of our soldiers. May God aid us, especially in this fight." The British had word of the attack (massive amounts of troops were on the border, plus they had Enigma), but Stalin, who expected an attack eventually, ignored the warnings. In addition, the Germans did set up fake operations in an attempt to deceive the Russians and the Allies. They tried to make it seem like Britain was the target in Operations Haifisch and Harpune. They simulated preparations in Norway and the Channel, and deliberately leaked invasion plans. (sound familiar?) Obviously, attacking the Soviet Union was a huge military blunder, although it didn't seem so at first. Plenty of articles, books, etc (check the forum topic) out there for more information on Operation Barbarossa and The United States preparations for war, and the relationship between Roosevelt and Churchill.


	22. Foiled

.

"What's in a Name"

Chapter 22

Foiled

thank you Sgt. Moffitt and Sgt. Hakeswill for your input!

The German success on the Russian Front lifted Klink's spirits, but did the opposite to the prisoners and their allies. The members of the local underground had to mask their true feelings when out in public; they had to appear to be the patriotic natives of the Fatherland, while Helga hid her despair. The prisoner ranks increased as British airmen captured in the Middle East and Africa ended up in Germany. But the ever-increasing tension between the United States and Japan portended future hostilities between the isolationist and wealthy country and the militaristic island nation that had already brought terror to China. The question on everyone's mind was this: if war broke out between the States and Japan, would Germany throw its hat into the ring, thereby bringing the United States directly into the European conflict?

Meanwhile, as the new prisoners were being processed and vetted, escape plans continued. The clock was ticking as Maddock and his staff hoped to get the men out before the weather got cold. Anticipation was at an all-time high one Saturday in late July when the tunnel-diggers notified Barracks Two that ground would finally be broken for a tunnel entrance into the hut. The main event was timed to coincide with a shift change, but watches were posted all over camp, and at the doors and windows of the barracks.

The atmosphere in the barracks grew ever more tense as the appointed moment approached. Conversation ceased as they all listened intently for sounds of digging beneath their feet. Finally, there was a signal. Banging could be heard, and the men scrambled to remove the floor boards.

Maddock stared down at the hole in the middle of the floor. "It's in the middle of the floor," he stated in as calm a voice as he could muster. "Who builds a hidden tunnel entrance in the middle of the floor?"

Goss and Bellows, the engineering student and miner in charge of dirt, digging, and safety, scrambled up the ladder and into the hut. They looked at each other, confused, and then down into the hole. They stepped back and let two other men clamber up. These two were the diggers, and they let their tools drop back down into the chasm.

"Blimey," Newkirk said as he walked over and peered down into the hole.

"Looks like we zigged when we should have zagged," answered McGraw, a burly Northern Irishman, who was known for his good humor and optimism.

"I'll say." Maddock walked around the hole, pursing his lips and scratching his head as he contemplated the catastrophe. "How are we going to hide this?"

"We can fill it in," suggested Goss. "But digging the branch over to the right spot by the wall; well, that will take a while."

"Schultz is coming!" yelled the lookout by the door. The men scrambled. The visitors quickly plopped themselves down at the table and picked up the hands of cards always left there in case of an emergency, while the residents took up innocent looking poses on their bunks or by the stove or sink.

"The hole!" Maddock frantically looked around for something to hide the entrance.

Deschamps opened the door right before Schultz barreled through, causing the guard to almost lose his balance. Several of the other men caught him in time. "Danke," he said.

"Don't you ever knock, Schultz?" asked Newkirk as he lit a cigarette.

"Nein." Schultz glanced around. He spotted the four strange men at the table and walked over. "Sergeant Maddock. The Kommandant has requested a meeting to discuss the new prisoners. What are you four doing here?" Visiting other huts during the day wasn't forbidden at this particular camp, but Schultz always kept his eye out for monkey business, especially when the men of Barracks Two were concerned.

"Just a friendly game of go fish. Bellows, do you have any twos?" Goss asked. "I was taught this game a long time ago by an American friend, and I got nostalgic. The men in my hut didn't want to play."

"Go fish," Bellows stated. "Would you like to learn, Schultz? You can take my place."

"Nein. Coming Maddock?" Schultz walked right by the footlocker that had been hastily placed over the hole. He stopped for a second and everyone held their breath. Tilting his head in confusion, Schultz looked around the room. He walked over to the sink and grabbed a small pitcher that held a few flowers the men had picked while on a work detail. He brought it over to the footlocker and placed it in the middle. "There, that looks better. And be careful you don't trip over that."

That evening, a false bottom was installed in the footlocker, and it remained in place over the loose floorboard that hid the tunnel entrance. With a tunnel entrance now available in a hut, it was simpler to send men down below to work on the final preparations for the mass escape. The small group consisted of men carefully chosen for their skills and background. They all spoke some German; a few were fluent. Several French prisoners were part of the contingent.

What hadn't been finalized was how the men would leave. Going under the movable fence was immediately eliminated as an option. The contraption wasn't set up for a mass escape situation, and the last thing the prisoners wanted was for the movable area to be discovered. There were two other options, leave by the emergency tunnel entrance in the tree stump, or take off during a work party.

"The guards are keeping a better eye on us since Munson and Blum took off," Newkirk reminded Maddock. "Unless we get Schultz guarding us of course." He laughed.

"Well, we don't want to get Schultz in trouble. We need him," Maddock said. "But if we send the men out through the tunnel, that could also attract attention. Klink may wonder how the men got out, and start searching for a tunnel exit. I know Oskar found another fake tunnel last week, but I still think it's risky. If we can get them on the same work party, and if maybe there's a diversion, they can sneak off. Klink will know it's a work party. The guards will get in trouble, or we'll have more guards assigned to work parties in the future." Maddock thought for a moment. "Well, I've made up my mind. We'll use the work party. I'll get the men assigned to the next large group that goes out. The rest of you will provide the diversion, and that's that."

It almost seemed improbable that the mass escape was about to happen. But first, the men decided to try a small experiment to gauge Klink's response. What would Klink do if only two men slipped out? The first time it occurred, the men were found quickly, and no one else was punished. Would Klink take it out on the rest of the camp if it happened again, especially, as everyone hoped, the escapees wouldn't be found? Newkirk and LeBeau, who were originally part of the mass escape, were chosen as the guinea pigs. The plan was to leave camp when Schultz was on furlough, so the sergeant would not be blamed.

The two men would leave from the tunnel, but in order to plant a red herring, evidence would be discovered showing they had left camp hanging onto the chassis underneath a truck. The first night was a wash. It was raining, and Langenscheidt took Schultz's place; the men did not want to get the friendly corporal in trouble, either. Their luck held the next night, which was calm and moonlit.

LeBeau and Newkirk, completely outfitted in civilian clothes, maps, money, compasses, and papers, stood in front of their hut mates, who were sad to see them go, but happy for them as well.

"Good luck, Peter, Louis." Maddock shook their hands.

"Are you sure you don't want...Who's going to break into the safe?"

"We'll find someone else, Newkirk. We already discussed this. You two deserve the first shot. You've both done more than your share."

The two friends made it safely out of camp and onto the road. Their absence wouldn't be noticed until morning, and they took their time heading into town. Their next stop was a florist, where they would be hidden until a guide would take them to the next safe house. This was the first time the men had seen Hamelburg.

"Charming," commented Newkirk as he and LeBeau crossed the street. So far, their walk through the town center had been uneventful, although the trappings of Hitler's regime were everywhere.

"Typical small Boche town," LeBeau replied. "Don't let the small-town feel fool you." He nodded and doffed his cap at two women who passed by them on the sidewalk. "Our shop should be up ahead."

The door to the shop, which was fortunately devoid of customers, opened with a jingle from the small set of bells hanging from the knob. Newkirk and LeBeau walked up to the counter, where an older man was busy clipping some stems. He looked up.

"Can I help you?"

Newkirk leaned his arm on the counter top. "Can you make up an emergency bouquet for my sister?"

"What's the occasion?"

"Triplets. She likes edelweiss."

The florist shook his head. "I don't recommend our edelweiss today. It's not what I would consider appropriate for such a momentous occasion."

"Newkirk, and this is LeBeau."

"Come around the back."

Klink was apoplectic the following morning when Schultz's substitute informed him that two prisoners were missing. Maddock stepped forward in an attempt to get the Kommandant's attention, but Klink didn't notice, as he was too busy screaming for the dogs, guards, and trucks.

Finally, he spied Maddock's arms waving. Klink hurried over to the sergeant and looked him right in the eye. "What do you know about this?"

"Nothing, sir. We had no idea. Honestly, we're just as surprised as you are. Just don't take it out on the rest of us."

"I don't believe you, " Klink yelled over the cacophony of the barking dogs and trucks revving up. "They were here at last night's roll call. Someone must have seen or heard something."

Langenscheidt hurried over to the group. "Kommandant, there is no sign of any wire being cut. But we found this by the front gates."

Maddock took a peek. "Looks like a piece of a sweater."

"How did it get by the gate?" The kommandant rubbed his chin, and Langenscheidt shrugged.

Behind the corporal, one of the prisoners whispered just loudly enough for Langenscheidt to hear. "Truck chassis. Clever."

"They may have hidden on the bottom of one of our trucks, sir. Hanging on the chassis. I've heard about this happening elsewhere, sir."

"That's impossible, Kommandant. Too dangerous." Maddock held back a grin.

"Silence!" The Kommandant began to pace. "They may be near the camp. Check the woods, the roads, the perimeter. It's possible they may have gone out with the same trucks we sent out to search for them."

"Wow," Deschamps whispered to another man. "I didn't think the Kommandant had the brains to think up a plan like that."

"Too bad. It was a good idea," the other man replied.

After several hours of fruitless searching, Klink went back to the office, and despite his suspicion that LeBeau and Newkirk could not have gone far, he eventually notified the local Gestapo of the escape. The Kommandant's reluctance to involve the Gestapo was duly noted by the prisoners, as was what Maddock described as the somewhat panicked response of a rear echelon bureaucrat.

LeBeau and Newkirk spent all day hiding in the florist's basement. The florist had been informed of Klink's request for help from the Gestapo, and so, not wanting the civilians involved, Newkirk and LeBeau offered to make their own way to the next safe house. But their guide, an older man, code-named Hansel, insisted on accompanying the two, and they acquiesced. Air raid sirens could be heard in the distance as the three headed southwest through farmland and woods.

"Listen," LeBeau said. the drone of bombers could be heard overhead. "Where do you think they are heading? Dusseldorf?"

"Possible. Railyards, maybe." Hansel replied. The men jumped as the sound of antiaircraft guns could be heard. Bright flashes lit up the sky and searchlights swept over the bombers, which looked like intermittent dark shadows as they continued their route to the target area. They all winced as they saw several of the planes take hits. One exploded, but the two thought they saw parachutes floating down.

"It's hard to see this," Hansel commented. "Civilians everywhere bear the brunt of this violence."

"I know. Let's keep moving." Newkirk was getting worried. He never would have left the safety of the camp or florist if they had been forewarned of the raid. He knew the area would be swarming with soldiers searching for the downed crew.

Hansel quickly halted, turned around and held up his hand. Newkirk and LeBeau stopped and listened. A rustling could be heard, and the three could make out the sound of someone hastily attempting to dig into the ground.

LeBeau poked Newkirk and whispered. "It's one of the airmen. Listen, I think he mumbled something in English."

As Newkirk began to move forward, he was stopped by Hansel. "Won't he have a pistol? He's likely to shoot first, ask questions later? Yes?"

"You're right." Newkirk and then LeBeau flung themselves to the ground and began a slow crawl to where they thought the downed soldier was trying to bury his parachute. Sure enough, they were able to make him out in the moonlight. Newkirk waved his arm, motioning for Hansel to join them.

"Psst." He whispered loudly. "Don't shoot, I'm English."

"Crandall?" the flier asked hopefully, thinking the man was one of his crew.

"Sorry, mate." Newkirk stood up, hands raised. LeBeau and Hansel did the same. "We're on the same side. Can you put the gun down?"

The flier moved a bit closer, still holding the weapon. "Who are you?"

"Escaped POWs," LeBeau replied. "And this is our guide."

"We should get out of here and keep moving," Hansel said. "This place may be crawling with soldiers soon. You, come with us. We can help you."

Sensing the flier's hesitation, LeBeau said, "You have to trust us, mon ami."

"All right. Name's Griffin. Lieutenant Griffin."

The men took off and continued walking away from the road, and hidden amongst the trees and brush. But after a short while, their luck began ran out. They could just make out the approaching sound of trucks and men. Instinct kicked in, and the foursome flung themselves onto the ground. In the distance, they could see a combined patrol of Gestapo and guards from the camp.

"You, from the camp. Head in that direction." A Gestapo officer pointed to where the four were hiding. "We'll check the other side of the road. Look for tracks and broken twigs. And don't forget, there may be one downed airman in the area."

"They must have captured the rest of the crew. What do we do now?" Griffin asked.

LeBeau and Newkirk looked at one another and nodded. They had been together now for over a year, and were such close friends that they could tell what the other man was thinking. This time was no exception.

"We will create a diversion, give ourselves up, so you two can get away."

"I can't ask you to do that," Griffin answered.

"Lieutenant, at this point, you'll most likely get captured, interrogated and sent to a prison camp. Especially since some of the Luftwaffe guards are here. But Hansel will be shot or worse. Can't let that happen. No sense in you getting captured as well. Go with Hansel. We'll be fine," Newkirk said. He began emptying his pockets and LeBeau did the same. They handed their fake papers, money, and the maps to Hansel.

"Lieutenant?" Hansel grabbed the airman's arm. "We have to make our way to a safe place. LeBeau, Newkirk. Good luck."

"You two. Wait for us to move." Newkirk stood up, and he and LeBeau headed off towards the patrol from the camp, making noise as they maneuvered through the brush. Meanwhile, Griffin and Hansel headed away from the guards from the camp. The Gestapo on the other side of the road would find nothing.

A short while later, the two escapees both found themselves standing in front of Klink.

"So, another escape attempt foiled." The Kommandant walked a circle around the two men.

"We got confused by the raid, Kommandant. Lost our bearings." Newkirk looked down at the floor.

"I guess your homemade compasses were useless? I know how you got out of camp. Clever. Clinging to a truck chassis. Clever, but dangerous."

"How did you...?" LeBeau asked.

"Ah, you admit it!" Klink picked up the piece of LeBeau's sleeve. "You left this."

LeBeau instinctively grabbed his right arm, and stroked the torn area of the civilian shirt he was wearing for the escape.

"You can't put anything past us here at Stalag 13!" Klink exclaimed.

"I guess not," Newkirk mumbled as he contemplated another uncomfortable stint in the cooler.

The next morning, Maddock visited Newkirk and LeBeau in the cooler. This time, they were separated. "You okay?" he asked Newkirk in a quiet voice after being assured that the cells weren't bugged.

"Right as rain."

"Good. So what happened?" Maddock asked the corporal.

After being told of the raid, and how they came across the downed airman, Maddock couldn't be angry. "Bad luck and timing," he commented. "Couldn't be helped. You know, you could have sent this lieutenant back to the tunnel."

"To tell the truth, I didn't even think of it. And I don't know if Hansel knew about the system. These Underground members keep their own secrets," Newkirk stated. "And all their code names seem to be from fairy tales." He laughed.

Maddock acknowledged Newkirk's point. "Well, I do have some bad news for you. Since this is your second offence, Klink decided that one more serious transgression from you two means a transfer to another camp out east. The good news is that apart from Langenscheidt, who appeared to be quite competent..."

"He's shy and quiet, but he's not stupid," Newkirk pointed out.

"No he's not. Anyway, the rest of the guards seem quite hopeless. We heard from Schultz that it took them quite some time to get organized once they left the don't seem to be trained very well in tracking, and Schultz is their commander, so I doubt they'll get better. Klink looked like he was about to lose his breakfast. And he waited for quite some time before calling in the Gestapo. He's afraid of Burkhalter."

"Well, I guess I'm staying here for a while. Don't want to take the chance of being caught again and transferred." Newkirk threw down his cigarette butt. "You'll have to tell Louis."

"He's my next stop." Maddock grinned. "I have to talk with him, of course. He owes Schultz several meals. That's the bribe for leaving us alone."

"And the mass escape?" Newkirk asked as Maddock was about to open up the small window in the door.

"Until enough time has passed, we all decided it's in everyone's best interest to put it on hold."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one of the earliest first-season episodes had Carter (who had been caught in an explosion) coming up through the footlocker in the middle of the floor. We also saw an entrance in the middle of the floor in the "Basic Black" episode. And there may be others. I always thought that type of entrance was a bit odd.


	23. A Few Familiar Faces

What's In a Name

Chapter 23

A Few Familiar Faces

Now that the excitement of the Russian invasion had passed, Burkhalter resumed his regular visits to Klink's camp. Occasionally, he brought dignitaries, including other generals or scientists, with him. Other times, these visitors, who often brought blueprints or small weapon systems to camp, would show up alone and often unannounced. Klink didn't know whether to have a nervous breakdown over these visits or be flattered, but somehow he managed to do both. And when useful and edible supplies meant for the other Hammelburg prison complex arrived at his gates, he accepted the gifts gratefully, and shared the wealth with the higher-ups.

Burkhalter was a recent recipient of this bounty, and he chuckled as he relayed the reason why he was sharing a case of superlative French wine with an acquaintance. "So, the mapmakers are refusing to change all the maps, and Klink said the printer was overcharging for the stationery. You should have seen Klink's face the last time I brought it up. He groveled." Burkhalter shook his head. "Putz."

"Is it really that crucial?" Colonel Biedenbender took a sip of the wine and sighed. "This is good."

"Try the caviar." Burkhalter passed the plate over. "Well, it is something that should eventually be rectified. We are, after all, sticklers when it comes to records and bureaucracy. But crucial in terms of the war? Not really. It's not like a few prisoners going to the wrong prison camp can do any damage. Berlin has their mind on other issues at the moment. Which reminds me, how was your trip to Africa?"

Biedenbender wiped his mouth with a napkin, and put down his glass. "We are in for a long fight. The RAF is good. Well, you know that. Look what happened in Britain. I came across some Americans in a few skirmishes over France."

"I heard," Burkhalter said. "We captured a member of one the Eagle Squadrons. He was shot down on an escort mission on July 2nd." (1)

Biedenbender nodded. "There's an American I really have my eye on. He's attached to an RAF squadron and he's already been a menace. Knocked out submarine pens, brought down fighters, and destroyed crucial rail yards. Yes, he is a menace," Biedenbender stated with a touch of admiration. "Impeccable reflexes and strategy. But once I figure him out, I'll get him. Even if it takes until the Americans get into war, and I believe they will."

"Agreed. Do you know his name?" Burkhalter asked.

"Hogan," answered Biedenbender. "Robert Hogan."

Hogan, who had no idea he was on Biedenbender's radar, was attending a briefing at a central headquarters located in the southeast portion of England. Approximately two dozen pilots, briefing packets open in front of them, listened intently as an RAF air commodore spoke in the front of the room.

"As you can see on this slide, we have updated intelligence regarding the location of POW camps in Germany. Copies of this map and aerial photos are in your packets." The commodore stepped aside and took a drink from the glass of water placed on a nearby table. "Make sure your crew is familiar with the new information. We don't want any friendly fire incidents harming any prisoners."

A faint rustling could be heard as the officers thumbed through the pages of the booklets.

"Also, this sector here..." The commodore took his pointer and placed it in an area of Germany just south of Dusseldorf. "We have confirmation that-and this is quite extraordinary-there is active resistance in this sector." A murmur spread through the room. "Several airmen have managed to return to England after being shot down near here. The French resistance has made contact with friendly Germans who seem to be as upset with Hitler as we are." He paused and gazed out at the group of men. "So, if by chance you do bail out in this sector, head in this direction. Questions? Yes, Gentry?"

"Sir, how do we get in contact with this resistance? How do we find them?"

"Good question. Hopefully, they will find you. That's all I know at this point. Yes, Hogan."

"There's a POW camp in the area. Is it mismarked? It says thirteen. Shouldn't it be six? And is there any connection between this camp and the resistance cell?"

The commodore walked back to the screen. "Yes, it is Luft Stalag, and it should actually be numbered six. But for some reason we don't quite understand, the Germans made a bureaucratic or recordkeeping mistake. I know that sounds implausible," he said as several of the men chuckled. "But they numbered it thirteen. Don't confuse it with this camp down here." He moved his pointer. "That's Stalag 13 as well, but it's much larger. You'll notice the other camp is very small, and that it's located near the town of Hamelburg with one 'm.' The other camp is also located near Hammelburg, which is spelled with differently. Two separate camps and two separate towns. In answer to your other question, I can't see how the camp has anything to do with the resistance in the area. Probably just coincidence. However, we have received verification that conditions in this camp are humane, if that's any consolation."

As the meeting broke up, some of the pilots stationed further away left the building quickly. Hogan's base was nearby, and he stayed behind to chat with several of the other officers.

"Good catch, Hogan, on that Hamelburg mix-up." Hogan's friend, Group Captain Roberts grinned. "Do you have time to get something to eat?"

"Thanks. Probably the last we'll ever hear of it. Thirteen, six? As long as I know their coordinates, it doesn't make any difference." Hogan straightened his uniform, grabbed his cap, a pile of briefing packets, and began walking out. "I'll take a rain check. I have to get back and brief the rest of the crews."

"Next time, then." Roberts paused. "I have to go up to London next week."

"Official business?" Hogan asked.

"Possibly."

"Aha." Hogan, without thinking, walked around to the left side of the car.

Roberts laughed at his friend's mistake.

"I meant to do that," Hogan said. He opened the door, and threw his cap and briefing packets onto the passenger seat. "Well, have a safe trip. Give my regards to Winnie." He winked, walked around to the driver's side, opened the door, and drove off.

The man responsible for the updated verifiable information about Luft Stalag 13 was a British sergeant who resided in Barracks Five. Sergeant Thomas Matlack, a young, quiet gunner from Northampton, had an older brother, Gary, who worked as a physician at an RAF base. At the beginning of the war, the brothers worked out a personal code they could use in letters home, in case Matlack was taken prisoner. When Gary received a letter from Thomas, he would turn the coded material over to an intelligence officer, who then turned it over to the appropriate authorities. Neither the German censors, nor Matlack's hut mates caught on to the ruse.

Matlack was careful not to include anything truly dangerous in the letters. There was no mention of the tunnel system or the contact with the Underground. But he did pass on information about camp conditions, the treatment of the prisoners, the number of guards and any information he could find on troop movements. His latest letter, however, did mention Newkirk's and LeBeau's foiled escape attempt. He briefly wondered if he should mention the help they gave the downed flier, but thought better of it, and left it out.

He was flabbergasted three weeks later when he received a letter from his brother that seemed to be a reply to the previous letter. A three-week turnaround was unheard of; some prisoners went months without receiving any mail. Curious, he immediately checked the greeting, which indicated a secret message within the contents of the letter. "How did this get here so fast," he muttered.

"You say something, Thomas?" asked the man who slept in the upper bunk.

"Um, no. It's nothing." Matlack removed a small notebook from his foot locker, and hopped back on the bunk. At first glance, the letter was innocuous, and would pass any censor. Matlack licked the end of a short stubby pencil, and began writing. Everyone else in the hut was busy with their mail, so the sergeant's work went unnoticed. Finally, as he finished, he pursed his lips, scratched his head, threw the paper into the stove, and then headed over to Barracks Two.

While the mass escape was on temporary hold, the prisoners continued to expand the tunnel system. Fortunately, most of the supplies, such as the wood needed to shore up the walls and ceiling, were brought down into the complex before the entrance in the woods was sealed off. The idea to dig a spur into the cooler, originally dismissed as ludicrous, was brought up again in an escape committee meeting.

"It wouldn't be a huge undertaking," Bellows explained. "It's not a room, after all. You'd have to crawl on your hands and knees. But, I think it might be useful in the future. You never know when it may come in handy."

"It's not like we're doing anything else at the moment," Goss stated. "The cell with the sink is easier because the entrance will come up from the floor. For the other cell, you would have to move a block from the wall. And if we do this, it will have to be soon. Otherwise, the ground will be frozen."

Maddock, whose job it was to be pragmatic, asked, "Through the concrete? And how are we going to get the entrance open from the other side?"

"That's a good question, John." Seeing as he had come up with the idea, Newkirk was enthusiastic about the prospect of tunneling into the cooler and other areas in the camp, for good measure. "We would have to have someone in there, of course."

"Well, I'm not volunteering," LeBeau stated.

The discussion was interrupted by a knock on the door. Deschamps, who had been watching for guards, opened it and let in Matlack.

"I need to show you all something," he said to the Frenchman.

"Come in." Deschamps closed the door and continued with his sentry duty, while Matlack walked over to the center of the room.

"What's going on?" Maddock cleared the table, pushing aside the blueprints.

Matlack was a bit shy, and he hesitated for a moment. He then retrieved the letter from his pocket. "I just received this letter from my brother."

"You're fortunate," LeBeau said as he placed a mug of coffee in front of the guest. "I haven't received mail in over a month."

"And..." Maddock prompted the young sergeant to continue.

''Well, this letter answers my letter. But, I only sent that letter out three weeks ago."

"I don't get what the issue is." Newkirk grabbed a chair and straddled it.

"That's an awfully quick turnaround time." Maddock looked at Matlack. "There's more?" he asked.

"Definitely." Matlack took a sip of coffee. "Well, I might as well let you in on something I've been doing. My brother and I worked out a code before I started flying. Just in case. He's a doctor with the RAF. And he's been passing on what I send." Seeing the look on everyone's faces, he quickly added, "I've said nothing about the Underground or the tunnels. Basically, it's been stuff about the conditions here, any information the guards blab on about. That sort of stuff."

"That's a relief," Maddock said. "You should have told us. This sort of thing could be dangerous."

"Some of us have little codes we use," Newkirk said. "Mavis, that's my sister. She and I have something worked out. But not to let her know what's going on, only if something isn't right. If I say something about the wrong football team, she'll know. But I haven't had to use that."

"Yes, well, that's not all," Matlack said. "I mentioned in the last letter about Newkirk and LeBeau's escape. Just how they were caught. Nothing about that flier they helped. I deciphered this letter. I don't have the paper I used because I burned it. But basically, we were to be congratulated for rescuing the airman and that he is safe."

There was a long moment of stunned silence in the hut.

"Obviously, that flier must have told intelligence what happened," Maddock stated. "And thanks to Captain Marceau, we know they are aware of the connection between us and the Underground."

"Absolutely," Matlack agreed. "But, John. How did my brother's letter get here so fast? Mine went out in that last batch three weeks ago. It had to get through the German censors, the British censors and then to Gary. And then his letter had to get here. How?"

"That's weird," Bellows stated.

"Too weird." Maddock stood up. "I need to meet with the Underground. I'm not waiting for Oskar's next visit. I'm going over to see Helga to arrange a meeting."

"What's your reason this time for visiting Klink's office?" Deschamps reminded Maddock.

"I have no idea," Maddock said as he grabbed his cap. "But, as usual, I'll think of an excuse on the way over."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) William Hall. Also another flier was shot down and captured.From "Eagles of the RAF: The World War II Eagle Squadrons" By Philip D. Caine "Nat Marantz was shot down in July of 41. He used to be an Eagle. 37 eventually taken prisoner, 14 while actually still in the squadrons."
> 
> Air commodore is the equivalent of a one-star general or Brigadier general.
> 
> Thomas Matlack's coded letters: This actually happened, and recently, one of these codes was broken. If you type coded letters from POWs in WW2 into Google, you'll get numerous hits, including recent articles. I also saw this used on an episode of "Foyle's War."
> 
> This book: First in the Air The Eagle Squadrons of World War II, by Kenneth C. Kan, is available in PDF form online.
> 
> Unfortunately, I found the real historical timeline doesn't work for Hogan to be in an Eagle Squadron. But men got attached to the RAF in other ways. And this was mentioned in the episode, "A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to London," where we also met Hogan's friend, Group Captain Roberts. If I delve into this much further, I won't finish the story. So, my historical notes for this chapter are done


	24. Meetings of the Minds

What's In a Name

Chapter 24

Meetings of the Minds

Maddock strolled through the compound on the way to the Kommandantur, exchanging nods and greetings with both the guards and prisoners he passed along the way. He had only a few minutes to think of an excuse to visit the office, as his regular weekly meeting with Klink had come and gone. It was unthinkable that he, a sergeant, would show up for a friendly chat with an Oberst. While his relationship with Klink was respectful and somewhat cordial, Klink had his limits.

"I've already complained about the ingredients in the bread, the lack of hot water, the electricity, and the lice." Maddock stopped talking to himself as he stared at two guards and a German civilian wheeling an electronic contraption into a shed.

"That's right!" Maddock realized he had not yet complained to Klink about the devices being brought into camp. This past week, he had seen one general, an SS officer, and now this civilian paying a visit.

Maddock sighed. He admitted he was tiring of this cat and mouse game and that he wished when the time came, he could escape with the rest of the men. However, that was not possible. His German was mediocre, and he needed to be in the camp to take the fall and prevent Klink from punishing the prisoners who were left behind. He did not ask to be shot down or chosen as MOC; but as long as he was the prisoners' spokesperson, Maddock was determined to fulfill his duty and obligation to the men under him.

The 28-year-old barkeep was an unlikely leader. He was of average height and looks, and not particularly adept at sports or academics. He was, as people who knew him said, a nice, young man who was comfortable with people, and people were comfortable with him.

Maddock had several Jewish friends, and he was acquainted with refugees that patronized his pub. Politics was something he usually thought about right before an election, but Maddock knew right from wrong. What he had seen on newsreels made him sick and he realized Nazism needed to be wiped out before it spread any further.

He and some friends did not trust Hitler to stop after Germany annexed the rest of Czechoslovakia. They thought the RAF would provide better training, so they enlisted. Maddock's family and his fiancée were sad and frightened, but they supported his decision.

Maddock's personality and way with words quickly earned him the respect of the men imprisoned in camp. After the Polish prisoner, Chernetsky, decided to relinquish his post, the prisoners elected the British sergeant as the new Man of Confidence.

He smiled at the guard standing on the office porch. As always, the guard stepped aside, and let the sergeant in. Helga looked up as he entered.

"Is the Kommandant in, Fraulein? I need to speak with him. It's urgent." Maddock removed a piece of paper from his pocket and slipped it to Helga.

She palmed it, and stood up. "I'll announce you."

"Come in, Sergeant." Klink remained seated behind his desk. The Kommandant liked the young British airman. Maddock was polite, respected decorum, and seemed to know his place. Klink had heard from other colleagues that some MOCs and senior POW officers abused their authority, a few not seeming to care how the men under their charge were treated. Klink was bothered by these stories. He felt that these leaders, even though they were the enemy, had to work in the best interest of the men under them, and Maddock certainly did just that.

"Sergeant, I'm very busy. What do you want?" Klink really was not that busy, but this was his usual start to a conversation.

Maddock stood at attention. "Kommandant, I believe you and I have achieved an understanding and a decent working relationship."

"I agree."

"Good. Well, I find that I must lodge a formal complaint."

Klink sighed and opened a drawer. "I have a running list. What is it this time?"

"I believe it's against the Geneva Convention to have weapons brought into a POW camp."

"There are no weapons being brought into camp, Maddock." Klink's eyelid twitched, a sure sign he was lying.

Maddock stepped forward, suddenly realizing that he had come over to the office to make a point. The use of Stalag 13 as a way station for generals, SS goons, and what could be experimental weaponry, was indeed a problem and should not be tolerated.

"Kommandant. In the last few weeks, we've noticed a lot of comings and goings, and some of those coming have brought equipment in that doesn't seem to belong here. We could be bombed if weapons are stored in the camp or nearby. That could be dangerous for everyone, including civilians."

Klink gulped, removed his monocle, polished it and put it back in. "Sergeant, I assure you that nothing illegal is going on in this camp. The officers coming in are here legitimately, and their visits are not your concern. Dissmissed!"

Maddock stepped back. He made his point, and nothing more was to be gained during this visit. "Thank you, sir."

He left the office and stopped at Helga's desk. Helga handed Maddock a small piece of paper. He pocketed it and returned to his barracks.

That night, Maddock met with Oskar and Otto in the tunnel system. The two Germans had not been down there for quite some time, and they were amazed at the progress the prisoners had made.

"You could almost live down here," exclaimed Otto.

Maddock laughed. "Well, it's not that cozy." He put his lit lantern on the table. "We could use more light. But I didn't ask for a meeting to discuss interior decorating. Something odd happened. We got a mail delivery today. One of the men received a coded letter from his brother, three weeks after a letter was sent out. That is really quick."

"That is odd," Otto agreed.

"That's not all. They knew about Newkirk and LeBeau helping that flier, and the code said that if we could continue to do that, that would be great. Matlack, sorry, that's his name. He only mentioned that their escape was foiled. Nothing about the flier. Two explanations. Either someone is trying to get to us somehow, or the letter was fast-tracked, and sent forward. Which means someone in Germany managed to slip it into the mail."

Oskar stroked his chin. "I'm confused. We don't know anyone with that opportunity. Bypassing the mail service, that is. I wouldn't even know how to go about doing something like that."

"What about our French contacts?" Otto asked.

"We'll bring this up to their leader." Oskar stated. "Anything else? When are you planning on making the next escape attempt?"

"Soon. Otherwise, the weather will be an obstacle." Maddock stood up. "Thanks for coming by and for checking this out."

"Thank you. If someone else around here is involved in our cause, we need to know." Oskar reached into his pocket and brought out a dog collar. "Before we go, I have something to show you. Look here." He revealed a slit in the leather. "These are specially made. Can you see the space? You can slip a message in there. Wolfgang and Heidi will have these collars."

Maddock checked out the collars. "Brilliant, Oskar. Brilliant. Do you two have a few more minutes? I'd like to get LeBeau down here. He's the closest to the dogs. We'll need to work out a signal to let each other know when there are messages."

"We can stay for a bit longer," Otto stated. "In fact, I have some radio and telegraph equipment to show you."

"Great. Make yourself comfortable. I'll be back in a bit." Maddock disappeared up the ladder.

While they waited, Otto and Oskar took a quick tour of the tunnel complex, for that is now what the old mine entrance had become.

"Where's this spur going, I wonder?" Otto asked.

"Helga told me they are digging into the cooler," Oskar replied.

"Now why would they do that?"

"Because they can," Oskar answered with a chuckle.

Newkirk had trouble falling asleep that night as he contemplated Maddock's report. The corporal's mind was working overtime as he thought about the possibility of someone higher-up in Germany being involved with the prisoners. Using dog collars to deliver messages was intriguing, as was the technical equipment Otto had brought with him. The prisoners soon hoped to have a telegraph system set up so that they could communicate with the Underground. Their German allies would handle the outside wiring, while the prisoners would have to find a way to string the wires inside the camp.

By 2 am, Newkirk decided to sneak out to the latrine. He could have stayed in and used the chamber pot kept underneath the bunk, but he decided he needed some fresh air. Fresh was not the word the prisoners and guards would have used to describe the air around the latrine, but Newkirk preferred some semblance of civilization, and being from the slums in the East End, he was used to dealing with a multitude of not-so-nice smells. The escape committee had decided that this area was off-limits for clandestine activities; it was too obvious.

Sneaking out of the barracks at night was a serious offence. If caught, prisoners risked a sentence in the cooler, or worse, being shot on sight.

So far, the few who had dared venture somewhere other than the dog pen were lucky. Up until now, those caught in the latrine area at night were let off with a warning, and it was a well-known fact that the guards were not trigger-happy. But there was always the chance of becoming an example.

However, Newkirk was all about taking chances. It had been several months since he had attempted this, so he assumed it was safe to have a go. Being careful not to wake up anyone, he threw on some clothes.

As he slowly made his way across camp, he spied a fellow insomniac heading in the same direction. They safely met up at the latrine and once inside, exchanged pleasantries.

"Couldn't sleep, Dietzler?" Newkirk asked, surprised to see the mild-mannered resident of Barracks 5 out and about. He did not admonish the other man for being outside after lights out. As long as their actions did not affect him, his friends, or camp operations, what the other prisoners did or did not do, was none of his business.

"Too much coffee. Runs right through me. You?" Dietzler, a corporal from the Cotswolds, had Swiss ancestors. He spoke excellent German and was one of the future escapees.

"A lot going on," Newkirk replied.

Dietzler did not ask for an explanation. He knew the rest of the camp would find out soon enough. "Did you see the Kraut in the business suit?"

"Yes. Wheeled some kind of contraption into a supply shed. Maddock complained to Klink today about weapons coming into camp." Newkirk poked his head out. There were no guards in sight. "Clear," he said. The two washed their hands.

"I'd love to see what the thing is." Dietzler was a tinkerer. He had already managed to take apart and fix an old tape recorder he had found in the trash behind the now-empty German officers' quarters.

As they left the building, Newkirk glanced over at the shed. The civilian was staying in the VIP quarters, and only one guard was guarding whatever it was that needed to be guarded. "Why don't we find out?"

"You c..c..crazy?" Dietzler stammered.

"Piece of cake. I'll open up the window around the back, and then I'll distract the guard. You pop in, take a look, pop out and that's that. I always carry my tools."

"No. You're already in trouble, remember? I'm surprised you would even come out. I'll distract the guard, and you pop in." Dietzler sounded adamant.

"But I won't know what I'm looking at!" Newkirk countered. "You go."

Dietzler pondered that for a moment. "All right. But if you get transferred to another hellhole, don't blame me."

Newkirk and Dietzler slowly made their way over to the shed, coming along the rear of the building so as not to draw the attention of the guard. Newkirk easily pried open the window and Dietzler climbed through and dropped to the floor. Newkirk was about to distract the guard, but seeing the coast was clear, he decided to take the plunge and join Dietzler. He pulled himself up and followed Dietzler into the shed, startling the other corporal.

"You almost gave me a heart attack! I thought you were going to distract the guard," Dietzler whispered.

"He didn't need distracting. I think he dozed off."

"Never mind that, let's see what they're up to." Dietzler walked over to a table. He bent down and started to examine the equipment left there. After a few minutes, which to both of them seemed like hours, he moved back. "I think it's some kind of radio detector."

Newkirk let out a quiet whistle. "That's not good."

"See, look here." Dietzler pointed to some dials and a screen. "I think this helps triangulate signals, so they can eventually narrow it down to an area. Can't be sure, of course, but that's my guess."

"What type of radios?" Newkirk asked.

"Don't know. Maybe civilians listening to the BBC, or the Underground sending messages." Dietzler began running his hand on the back of the machine. "Let me see your knife. I may be able to get the back off." After a moment, the back slid open. "Hmm. I think I may be able to do some damage!" Dietzler grinned.

"Now you're crazy." Newkirk was beginning to get nervous. "We have to get out of here."

"No, it's simple. A little tweak here. Not too obvious. There. I may have cut a connection. Should take them a while to find it." Dietzler replaced the back. "Damage is done. You know, Newkirk. Glad I ran into you. This was fun."

"Charming." Newkirk took back his knife and shook his head. "Let's get going."

The guard was still dozing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know nothing (hey, I sound like Schultz!) about radios, but in the Pulitzer Prize winning novel, "All The Light I Cannot See," one of the protagonists is involved with radio detection. That's where I got the term "triangulate signals." I highly recommend the novel, btw.
> 
> I truly believe that the guards in Stalag 13 (as per the show) are from the bottom of the barrel. (except for Langenscheidt, of course! I think he's more like Schultz) Otherwise, they'd have caught on to everything and reported everyone, leading to a firing squad or worse, and subsequently, an early tragic end to the series.
> 
> Regarding the comment made about MOC's and Senior POW officers. I've read a couple of accounts in memoirs of bad behavior, ranging from ineffectiveness, to actual collaboration. Rare, but it did happen. Most, of course, handled their duties bravely and did what they could for the rest of the prisoners.


	25. Triskaidekaphobia

What's in a Name

Chapter 25

Triskaidekaphobia

sorry it took so long to post the next chapter. At the end of chapter 24, Newkirk and another prisoner broke into the shed and sabotaged what they assumed was a radio detector.

Newkirk was used to being out at night, as he had taken many trips to the dog pen before the tunnel entrance in the hut was completed. However, it still took him a while to get back to his barracks, as he had to dodge both the guards and the searchlights along the way. He waited for a clear shot, and then opened the door very slowly, only as far as he needed to slip his slim frame into the building. Carefully and quietly, Newkirk pulled the door shut.

Tiptoeing across the common room, he arrived at the bunk he shared with LeBeau. The next step was the difficult one. He had to hoist himself up to the top bunk without waking the other corporal. Fortunately, LeBeau was short and curled up in a fetal position. This gave Newkirk room at the end of the bunk to get a boost. He had one leg in mid-air, when LeBeau turned and pulled himself up to a seating position.

"Where were you?"

Newkirk was startled, and he just managed to catch himself before he fell flat on the floor.

"At the latrine. Sorry to wake you."

"No bother," added a now alert Deschamps. "We all knew you left. A trip to the latrine should not have taken so long. And with your record, why would you risk being caught outside for that?"

"Yes, Newkirk. Why?"

Newkirk turned around and saw Maddock standing by the bunk closest to his office door. The MOC was holding a lit lantern, and the glow of the lamp outlined his obviously miffed face.

Newkirk bit his lip. "I didn't want to disturb anyone here," he stated. "I preferred the privacy."

"Incroyable," LeBeau remarked as he shook his head.

"It took an awful long time for you to get from here to there and back again," Maddock accused Newkirk.

"Sorry. It won't happen again. It's funny, but I usually have the opposite problem if you get my drift."

"Don't we all," another hut mate mumbled.

Maddock thought for a moment. He had a suspicion Newkirk wasn't completely telling the truth, but without any proof or a reaction from the guards, he was reluctant to accuse another prisoner of monkey business, as Schultz liked to call it.

"All right. Don't do that again. You already have a record. The guards aren't the brightest and they aren't trigger-happy, but you never know. Everyone go back to sleep." Maddock went into his room and hopped on to his bunk; he preferred the top as it was warmer than the bottom. He discovered this his first winter in camp—heat does rise after all. He turned off the lantern, bent down, and placed it on the table next to the bunk bed. Tomorrow, I'll call a barracks chiefs' meeting and lay down the law, he noted before he fell asleep.

Dietzler was also caught by his bunkmates. His chief made a note to speak to Maddock about this late-night excursion. Going to the dog pen was one thing, but there were other, safer ways to handle life's necessities in the middle-of-the-night.

Early the next morning, Maddock met with all the chiefs, who then met with their charges to reiterate the MOC's orders. Neither Dietzler nor Newkirk told anyone about the break-in.

At mid-morning, a Gestapo staff car drove into the camp and parked outside the Kommandantur. The Kommandant and the civilian left the office and introduced themselves to the Gestapo agent.

Klink peered through the open window, shocked that the agent had no driver. "I'm Kommandant Klink, and this is Doctor Göldner. Pleased to have you here." The two stepped back.

The agent opened the door and exited his car. He towered over both Klink, who stood a few inches shy of six feet, and Göldner, who was several inches shorter than the Kommandant.

"Major Fahl." Fahl's normal expression was one of disdain, and he stared back at Klink and Göldner in a manner that made Klink uncomfortable. Göldner, resembling an anxious lackey ready to perform for his masters, squirmed.

Fahl looked down at the scientist. "Too much caffeine?" he asked as he removed his gloves.

Göldner stifled a cough. "No, Major. Just ready to show my work."

"This way, Major." Klink escorted the agent and the scientist to the shed, now guarded by two men from the day shift. "I will tell the guards to restrict the prisoners to their barracks," he stated before they opened the door.

"That won't be necessary, Klink. It will only increase their curiosity and arouse suspicion. What can they possibly do if one or two of them suspect we are testing scientific equipment?" Fahl pointed out. "Besides, I have heard that you have an excellent record."

Klink stood up a bit straighter as he began to turn the knob. "Yes, that is true, Major. An excellent record. No successful escapes."

One guard glanced at the other guard and rolled his eyes. Fortunately, the officers did not notice their impertinence.

Both Dietzler and Newkirk, along with most of the other prisoners, were on the compound. Men tended to hang out with men from the same hut, so the two were separated. They both put on innocent facial expressions and tried to look busy.

LeBeau sidled up to his friend and poked him in the ribs. "What do you think is in there?"

Newkirk shrugged. "Some kind of weapon, I reckon. Not sure. Besides," his voice went up an octave, "how would I know?"

LeBeau looked at him quizzically. "You all right? You seem a bit nervous."

"Never better." Newkirk hurriedly lit a cigarette. "Well, I'd be better if I wasn't here, but you get my drift."

Fahl and Klink stood next to Göldner as he powered up the detector. While it was warming up, he attempted to explain the mechanics and functioning of the unit.

"Not interested. I just want to see if it works as promised," said Fahl. "Get on with it."

The scientist pouted, but sat down and stared at the readings for a moment. "It has warmed up now," he stated, as he adjusted some of the knobs.

"We hid our radios throughout the camp, as you directed," Klink said.

"Why would you do otherwise, Klink?"

"Absolutely, Major. Why would we do otherwise?" Klink answered. I hate the Gestapo. They have no manners. He shivered.

Göldner turned and looked up at Fahl. He was not as intimidated as Klink, but he was wary. "We're ready." He nodded at Klink, who went over to the phone located on a nearby wall.

"Turn them on," Klink ordered.

"Perhaps we'll pick up clandestine radios as well," Göldner gleefully stated.

"That would be a bonus," Fahl said. He looked down at his hands and began to examine his nails. These tests, while necessary, bored him. Why someone else could not handle these mundane duties was beyond him. Nevertheless, General Burkhalter had contacted his superior, and so, here he was. On the other hand, if the unit worked as promised, he could take the prototype and start searching for illegal radios used by civilians who wanted to listen to the BBC, or even by members of the Underground he suspected were working in this sector.

Göldner continued fiddling with the dials. "I don't understand," he mumbled.

Fahl bent over the scientist. "Something wrong? I don't have all day."

"I'm not picking up our test radios. That's impossible." He scratched his head.

Klink picked up the phone again. After a moment, he hung up the receiver. "They are on."

As Göldner was about to turn off the machine and check the connection, smoke began leaking out behind the back panel.

"Your machine is on fire." Fahl pointed out. As both Klink and Göldner attempted futilely to stop the spread of smoke, Fahl calmly reached down and pulled out the plug, which stopped the sizzling sound emanating from the machine, as well as the smoke. "You have both wasted my time."

"Wait, I am sure there is a logical explanation." Klink began to follow the agent out of the building, leaving Göldner behind scratching his head and examining the now charred remains of his radio detector.

The angry Gestapo agent, a befuddled Kommandant, and a few moments later, the upset scientist, stomped across the compound. This parade did not go unnoticed by the prisoners.

The various groups of men scattered in the compound had magnetically coalesced. Newkirk and Dietzler glanced at each other, slight grins etched on their faces.

As Fahl got into his staff car, loudly slamming the door behind him, the scientist turned to Klink.

"This is your fault." Göldner looked up at the Kommandant. "I salvaged nothing. I could not even tell if any wires got disconnected. Someone tampered with my machine." He stomped his foot. "That's the only explanation."

Klink was insulted. "I assure you that no one entered the shed after you set up your equipment. No one. The shed was guarded all night."

"Then the only explanation is the camp."

"I don't follow you."

"Klink, you are a fool. It is unlucky. 13. Everyone knows you should not assign the number 13 to anything. Hotel floors, railroad cars. Probably causing some electromagnetic pulses that play havoc with machinery. I bet nothing works in this camp."

Klink stepped back. "That is not true. I..."

"Are you suggesting the Fuhrer's interest in the paranormal is crazy?" Göldner asked, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"I would never suggest that. Perhaps there was a short in the wiring. I will have my electrician…wait! We are not actually Stalag 13. There was an error." Klink tried to explain. "You see, it is quite funny. We are supposed to be…"

Göldner stared at Klink for a moment. "Yes, I am aware of the numbering error." He then said in a calm voice. "Perhaps you are correct. I'll be taking my machine now."

Klink scratched his head as he watched the scientist- he now thought the man was mad-walk back to the shed. He turned to Schultz, who had sidled up to the Kommandant. "What just happened?"

Schultz shrugged. "I saw nothing."

"I think he is crazy."

"And rude. Constantly interrupting," Schultz answered.

"A radio detection unit would be useful." Klink sighed. "I suppose I should contact General Burkhalter." As Klink turned to walk towards the compound, he spied a dozen prisoners standing close by. They had obviously witnessed the entire exchange.

Maddock walked a few paces towards Klink, thought better of it and returned to the crowd of men. One look immediately stopped the snickering and talking.

"Newkirk, Dietzler. In my office."

Two minutes later, behind a closed door, Maddock faced the two. "Did you two break into the shed?"

The two men shuffled a bit, and began staring at their shoes. Finally, Newkirk spoke. "It was my idea. We didn't plan it beforehand, though. The opportunity just came up."

"I agreed to it," Dietzler admitted. "And I was the one who sabotaged the equipment. It was a radio detector."

"Aha! You admit it!" Maddock snapped his pencil in half. "What were you thinking? We're not in the sabotage business."

"We just wanted to see what it was they were hiding." Newkirk said. "What if they had turned it on and found an Underground radio nearby. What if we had started our transmissions? We could have been caught. Not to mention our homemade radios tuned to the BBC."

Maddock did not have an immediate answer, but he thought he could feel his dark brown hair turning grey. He opened the door. "LeBeau. We're testing the dog collar system. Send a message to Oskar to watch out for radio detection equipment." As LeBeau disappeared down into the tunnel, Maddock turned to the two miscreants. "I think you both took a few years off my life." He sighed. "But, actually, you may have done us all a service. Maybe Klink will put a stop to these visits and experiments. Go on. Get out of here."

As Dietzler fled the hut, he had to scramble to get out of the way of Schultz, who barged into the building with no thought for those he managed to bump into.

"How's the Kommandant?" Deschamps asked the sergeant. "In trouble with the law? He can have my lucky rabbit's foot." Deschamps reached into his pocket, while everyone laughed.

"Perhaps a fortune-teller?" Another prisoner produced an old British newspaper. "I think there is a horoscope in here somewhere."

"What do you want, Schultz?" Maddock offered the sergeant a chocolate bar.

"Danke. What is this for?" Schultz asked, his eyebrows rising in suspicion. He plopped his gun down by the door.

"Just to be nice. I can take it back." Maddock reached for the candy bar.

"Not necessary. The Kommandant, who is fine, thank you for asking, needs a large work crew tomorrow for a fall clean up near the Hamelburg road. He wants to speak to you later today about the assignment."

The hut went silent. Maddock nodded. "I already have one all drawn up. I figured with the leaves and branches falling, he would ask for our help sooner rather than later. Say 15 men?"

"Danke. 0800 tomorrow."

"It will be nice to get out of camp, Schultzie. You supervising?" Newkirk patted the German on the back and then handed the rifle back to the guard.

"I am the Sergeant of the Guard and the Kommandant's aide. I do not supervise work details. The guards are assigned by me!" He walked out the door.

"This is it?" asked Newkirk.

"This is it." Maddock stated. "Notify the escape committee. We have a lot of work to do."

After regaling Helga with the sordid details of that morning's failed experiment and the mental quirks of the scientist, Klink asked her to get General Burkhalter on the phone. As he waited in his office, he prayed that the Gestapo agent would forget about the incident and his camp, or just concentrate on the scientist's odd behavior.It takes all kinds, he told himself. The phone rang.

"General Burkhalter, how nice to speak with you.

"Yes, I will get on with it." Klink coughed. "The scientist that you sent…well, you see…

"You do see. You heard."

Klink held the phone away from his ear. Is that laughter?

"General, are you laughing? Of course, you never laugh.

"He's been picked up and taken for treatment? I think that is wise.

"No, I assure you, the building was secure. There is no way anyone could have broken into the hut." Klink made a mental note to have someone check the doors and windows.

"Yes, while the high command has no issues with the number 13, perhaps I should revisit the numbering problem. But General Burkhalter, each time I have tried…Yes, I will try again. Absolutely." Klink grabbed a pencil and in frustration snapped it in two."And let me assure you that we are always prepared to receive your visitors."

"Thank you, Heil Hitler."

Klink replaced the receiver and headed to the door. "Helga, I'm going to my quarters to rest for a bit. Send someone for me in an hour. And then, I'm afraid we have some work to do…again."

In his haste, Klink forgot about ordering someone to check the shed, although by that time, Newkirk had broken into the unguarded building and locked the window from the inside. At this point, there was no sign of any unauthorized entry.

Later that afternoon, Maddock followed Schultz to the Kommandant's office. Upon entering the room, he saluted and then spoke. "You wanted to see me about the work detail, Kommandant. I already have a list drawn up." He handed it to Klink.

"Very efficient, Maddock. Thank you." Klink glanced at the list. "Newkirk and LeBeau?"

"I promise they will be no trouble, sir," Maddock said. "It will do them some good to work."

"Hmmm. Yes, it would, I'm sure." Klink stroked his chin, and examined the rest of the list. "I do not know the rest of these men very well, which means they haven't been in any trouble. That is good. Schultz, any issues with the men on the list?"

"No, Kommandant."

"Nevertheless, I don't want any problems. This will be a large detail and a large project. I wanted to warn you that it could take all day. If this goes well, the prisoners will be rewarded," Klink said. "And I expect you to supervise." He leaned back in his chair.

"That's very generous of you, sir. Am I dismissed?" Maddock asked, wondering how he would get out of watching the work party.

"Yes. You may go."

Maddock saluted and then turned back. "Sir, may I speak freely?"

Klink sat up. "What is it?"

"We couldn't help but hear what happened on the compound. That scientist, sir. Was he really blaming the number 13 for whatever happened to his experiment?"

Klink stood up. "A German scientist is concerned with a silly number?" Klink chuckled. "That could be considered an insult, Sergeant. What exactly are you implying?" His eyes narrowed.

Maddock gulped, shocked at how brazen he had just been. "I apologize, sir. Well, I'm just saying. I wouldn't want you to get in trouble for something that wasn't your fault. What was that machine supposed to do anyway?"

"It was a …" Klink stopped. "Why would I get in trouble? And I am not telling you what it was."

"Hopefully, the Gestapo officer won't complain. You know, I bet the machine was faulty. Complaining about the number 13." Maddock began to laugh. "He has triskaidekaphobia."

"Triska what?" Klink asked.

"Fear of the number 13." Maddock replied. "Juvenile if you asked me."

Schultz, who had been standing quietly by the door, stepped forward. "If the Fuhrer has a problem with the number 13, they would not have assigned that number to any camps. Would they, Kommandant?"

"You know, Schultz. You're absolutely right."

"Does this mean they'll be no more machines brought into camp," Maddock asked hopefully.

"Disssmiissed!" Klink yelled.

Schultz followed Maddock out. "Naughty, naughty," he said as he wagged his finger at the MOC.


	26. It's Not as Easy as it Looks

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What's In a Name

Chapter 26

It's Not as Easy as it Looks

Wow, sorry for the extra long chapter. I have to move things along. And the delay. Between the SSSW challenge, personal stuff, power outages, etc., and writer's block, this took a long time to put together.

The escape plan was precise; the routes memorized, the men ready and focused, and the opportunity was there. The prisoners reported to the trucks that would take them away from the camp and towards town. It went off without a hitch.

Then Stalag 13 lived up to its name and the bottom dropped out, leading all the prisoners and their sympathizers to wonder if the superstitious scientist was actually on to something.

Before he began working on Burkhalter's orders to follow up on the naming fiasco, Klink came out to the compound to check on the work party. He nodded in satisfaction as the men stood for inspection. Fortunately, he did not notice that their outfits seemed rather bulky that morning. He looked around and realized someone was missing. "Where is Sergeant Maddock?" he asked Schultz.

"Here he comes now, Kommandant." Schultz pointed towards Barracks 2. The MOC was slowly making his way towards the truck. Every so often, Maddock would pause, let out a loud sneeze, and then continue forward.

He finally came to a stop a few paces in front of the Kommandant. Saluting, he said, "Reporting for duty, sir." A long coughing fit followed.

"You are ill, Sergeant."

"Not myself, sir."

Schultz strode over to Maddock and placed his hand on the sergeant's forehead. "He feels warm, Kommandant."

"I'm okay, sir. I need to supervise the work party. Your orders." Maddock sneezed again. "Excuse me, sir."

"Gesundeidt," Schultz said sympathetically.

"Maddock, go back to your hut and get some rest," Klink said. "Schultz, inform your guards that Sergeant Maddock will not be supervising the work party after all."

Maddock's acting worked as expected. He went back to his hut as ordered, and then after a long enough interlude, headed into the tunnels to supervise some work.

Schultz returned to his office to handle some paperwork, and Klink did the same. Helga had been tidying up his office when he left; she was now staring out the window at the prisoners as they climbed into the truck. As she turned, Klink noticed a look of concern on his secretary's face.

"Something wrong, Fraulein?" Klink asked.

"No, Kommandant. There was a phone call for you while you were outside. It's from the station master." Helga bit her lip and glanced at the window. "It appears it is one of those issues. He wants you to call him back right away."

"Oh, not again. Please get them on the phone." Klink sat behind his desk and removed his bottle of antacid from the drawer. "Of course, there is an issue. I was supposed to work on this today, anyway." The phone rang.

"This is Kommandant Klink of Luft Stalag 13.

"You have what?

"How many?

"That is quite a lot. Well, you cannot send them here. They are not ours. They have to go back.

"Of course I would love extra help, but I don't have the facilities…

"Well, I don't care if they are milling around. That is what people do at train stations, while they are waiting for a train. Do they not?

"Well, I know we do not encourage loitering. When is the next train heading in that direction?

"Yes, I have a schedule. But, why don't you inform me.

"That long? Get me the person in charge.

"Hello. This is Kommandant Klink. I know you and your men have been traveling in circles, but you see-funny thing- there are two Stalag 13's and two Hammelburgs.

"Yes, they are spelled differently." Give that man a sticker.

"You need to go to your original posting. They would not be happy if you all came here. Have the station master call the other prison camp and let them know you will all be delayed."

After concluding the conversation, Klink turned to Helga and sighed. "A large company of prison guards was sent here by mistake; too large to incorporate into our system." He shook his head. "They'll be angry; the other camp will be angry. What a mess."

"How long do they have to wait for another train, Kommandant?" Helga asked.

"Oh, the rest of the day. There was a bombing last night on one of the tracks and the train they need will be delayed. Now where were we? The map department."

Helga left Klink to his work. Although they were both positive nothing would change, the Kommandant had to make another effort to fix the error, or he would be guilty of disobeying Burkhalter's orders. She sat down at her desk and wrung her hands. Helga was certain she had seen the telltale signs of the planned mass escape. At least half the prisoners were wearing overly bulky clothing on a warm autumn day, the civilian clothing most likely hidden under their uniforms. She did not have any proof, of course, but she now had knowledge that could jeopardize the plans. Unfortunately, she had no way of letting any of the prisoners know. To make matters worse, she had snuck a peek at some recent dispatches, which told of possible troop buildups along the border. She again wished there was better real-time communication between the Underground and the prisoners.

Helga decided she had to act.

After the work party left camp, Maddock and a large group of prisoners began the process of creating their own diversion. They and the Underground considered the tunnels sacrosanct. Once the Germans discovered that a large group of POW's had escaped, Maddock expected a camp wide search for contraband. Clothing materials made from blankets were strategically hidden throughout the barracks. Rudimentary forging supplies and maps, the type hidden on fliers before bombing runs, were placed where they could be easily discovered. The deception continued. All the real supplies were safely hidden in the tunnel system; but Maddock's plan was to set up a red herring, and divert the search party away from their ace in the hole, as he put it.

Once the diversion was in place, everyone waited. Maddock paced around his office. He continued checking his watch, while other men in the barracks kept an eye out for activity from the guards.

"Looks like Helga is leaving early," someone commented.

Maddock glanced out the window. To his surprise, the secretary looked a bit pale and distracted. She walked quickly and with a purpose. "Something has happened," he said to men in camp.

"Maybe she realized what's up," noted one of his hut mates. "And she's going to notify the Underground."

The local Underground did not have prior knowledge of the timing of the escape. The prisoners decided to take advantage of the opportunity as it came; however, the Underground was not yet capable of handling this many men. Only one or two could be funneled through the system at this point. The friendly German civilians and their French handlers would find out soon enough as the Kommandant notified the town leaders and the Gestapo.

It did not take long.

Several hours after Helga left camp, but long before the men ditched the work party and headed out into the woods, the secretary returned. Her arrival was duly noted by several prisoners, and reported to Maddock. He was supposed to be ill, and so he stewed in the hut, as he could not legitimately think of a reason to head over the office. However, his anxiety over Helga's behavior-he now recalled her look of shock that morning-resurfaced. There was no way to communicate with either her or the Underground at this time, as the telegraph wires were in the process of being installed.

"How about I go over to the office, and let them know you are really ill, and need a doctor?" suggested Corporal Grant.

"You can ask a guard to do that," Maddock reminded him.

"I can sneak out through the tunnels, and go to that flower shop," offered Bellows, who was visiting.

"I don't think that's a good idea." Maddock resumed his pacing. He stopped. "Did you hear that?" He held up his hand. There was a slight knock coming from the floor. "I thought everyone left the tunnel."

The tapping resumed. The men quickly pulled open the footlocker and removed the false bottom. They peered in and spied Otto standing on the ladder.

"You nearly gave us all a heart attack!" Maddock held out his hand and helped the farmer up into the hut. "Watch the door," he ordered. "We need something to let us know someone is down there." He vowed to ask the engineers to design a warning system. "What are you doing here?" he asked the farmer.

"I'll make this quick. Your men are planning their escape today?"

"Yes, they are out on a work party," Maddock answered. He began to get nervous. "Why? You knew we weren't planning on asking for your help."

"Helga suspected so. She gave the Kommandant an excuse and left camp to let us know. They aren't heading into the tunnels to wait, or are they?" he asked hopefully.

"No, sir. One man, or even two, would be okay, but that's too many for now. Then we would have to get them out bit by bit; but by then the area would be crawling with patrols. It's not workable right now."

"I think we should head back down," Otto said. "We have much to discuss."

Once Otto, Maddock and several of Maddock's hut mates were safely down below and seated, Otto began to explain his unexpected appearance.

"Are these men heading towards Switzerland or France?" Otto asked.

"France, as we discussed. No one wanted to try for Switzerland. Besides, they would be prisoners there. Nicer accommodations, sure, but they want to be free to fight."

"As we suspected." Otto leaned forward. "We now believe that the Nazis want to catch French laborers trying to head back, and they have reinforced the French border area exactly where your men will be heading. It will be very difficult to get across."

Maddock's heart leapt into his throat. "How long have you had this information?"

"Not long. Helga recently came across it. That is one reason why she left camp. To let us know and to see if we could make contact."

"We have to try and stop the escape attempt." Maddock looked at the group. "Any ideas? We don't have much time. Hold on, Otto. You said one reason."

"Yes, there's more, and it's worse," Otto said. "A large group of guards was accidentally sent here. They are stuck at the station waiting for the right train. All day, I heard."

"That's bad," Bellows said. "Really bad. Klink could call on them once the escape is discovered."

Otto offered to help. "My truck is hidden by the road. I will try to locate the work party. All I need is to get a message to one of the prisoners, and that should be the end of it."

"That's a good plan." Maddock jotted down some information and handed the paper to Otto. "I'm not sure where the work party is, but the escapees are supposed to be hiding until nightfall. You know the cave. It's the one the French contact set up. After that, I don't know their plans. For security reasons, each team came up with their own route."

"That's understandable," Otto replied. He handed the paper back to Maddock.

After Otto's departure, the men headed back up to the huts. Their nerves on edge, they continued to wait, the fate of the escapees now out of their hands.

As soon as they realized men were missing, the guards notified the camp. They had other prisoners to look after, so only two of the four started searching. The two remaining guards watched the rest of the prisoners while waiting for reinforcements.

By the time Otto tracked down the work party, it was too late. What was worse, Otto could not get close to the area. Reinforcements had already arrived, and the road was blocked. His next stop was the small cave where the escapees were hiding.

The sight of the Kommandant storming out of the Kommandantur, plus the cacophony of barking dogs and bells and sirens was proof enough that the escape had been reported. As Bellows later told the remaining work party, it was like a scene out of the Keystone cops. Someone else compared it to a Marx Brother's romp, with the Kommandant playing the part of the female foil, Margaret Dumont, as he waved his riding crop, issuing orders, and just missed being upended by the loose canines accidentally released from the dog pen.

"Schuuultz!" He yelled. "The escape is not from here! It is from the work party!"

"I'm sorry, Kommandant." The sergeant yelled at his guards, ordering them to round up the dogs. Eventually, the search party left the camp.

It would have been an amusing scenario, Maddock thought, convinced yet again that the Kommandant and his staff were not the best Germany had to offer, except for the fact that Otto did not pass the word down that the escape was off. His only hope now was that the Underground leader would be able to track down the eight men holed up in the small cave not far from camp.

Klink returned to his office and immediately notified the guards waiting at the train station that they were to join the search for eight escaped prisoners.

It did not take long for Klink to head over to Barracks 2. By then, Maddock had hopped into bed. He heard the men outside his office politely greet the Kommandant as if this day were no different from any other. His door loudly swung open with a crash, and an angry Klink, followed by a befuddled Schultz, stomped in. Maddock pushed aside the blanket and swung his legs over the side. He offered a sloppy salute, and in the best nasal voice he could muster, said, "Afternoon, sir. Obviously, something has happened. I couldn't help but hear the noise." He sniffed.

Klink, oblivious to the supposed danger of catching Maddock's virus, got to within a few inches of the sergeant's face. "Get down." The Kommandant stepped back.

Maddock hopped down.

"I don't care if you are sick, you are going to help me catch these men," Klink said in a tone Maddock had not heard since he had arrived in the prison camp. He pointed his finger to the door, and Maddock walked out into the common room.

The four men remaining in the hut scrambled to their feet and stared down at the floor. This, in turn, gave the Kommandant more reason to be angry; Maddock could see the frustration building in Klink's body language, as his men all had the look of guilt in their faces and their body position.

Maddock inwardly sighed. The prisoners were normally expert at covering their tracks and appearing innocent. On the other hand, he grasped that these were not normal times. He feigned a sneeze for good measure. Schultz, ever the kind father figure, handed him a handkerchief.

"Thank you, Schultz."

Klink stepped back. "Never mind that Schultz. And your guards are at fault as well." Momentarily forgetting the prisoners, he wagged his finger at the hapless Sergeant of the Guard. "They are all going on report, and they better find the missing men, or there will be consequences."

"I think if Schultz was there, the escape would have been stopped before it started," mumbled the man standing next to Maddock. The MOC heard this, and shushed the man.

"What did you say?" Klink stepped away from Maddock and went over to the other prisoner. The prisoner glanced at Maddock, who gave an almost unnoticeable grin and a slight nod.

"I said, sir, that if Schultz was supervising the work party, it's a good bet that the escape would have been foiled." He turned to Maddock. "Sorry, John, but it slipped out, and he ordered me to spill the beans."

Klink rubbed his chin. "Schultz, you'll supervise work parties from now on," he said quickly. "Now back to the matter at hand. Where are they?"

Maddock stepped forward. "I don't know, sir."

Klink strutted around the hut. "Eight men don't decide at the spur of the moment to disappear. This had to be planned." He pointed to the man standing closest to the window. "You. Where are they?"

"I don't know, sir."

"I don't know, sir," Klink repeated. "Schultz, have everyone sent to the cooler, except for Maddock. Perhaps when you all have time to think for a while, you will start talking. Confine everyone else to barracks, then take a car out to the work area, and start supervising the search. Oh, and a large contingent of guards waiting at the train station will be joining in."

Schultz gave Maddock a look that reminded him of his mother after he had lied to her about eating the pie cooling on the shelf; the cherry juice all over his face was all the evidence she needed. He almost felt sorry for Schultz as the sergeant left the hut.

Maddock then followed Klink to his office. He was relieved Klink had not ordered a sweep of the barracks. While they had hidden contraband around the camp in case of that scenario, he realized Klink might not be savvy enough to conduct an additional search. That was one good thing. Moreover, the muttering about Schultz, leading Klink to assign the sergeant to work parties, was an unexpected bonus. The prisoners all knew that Schultz was a pushover, but Klink, at this point, did not.

There was a learning curve to being a POW, and despite their lengthy stay-now over a year-they were continually discovering Klink's strengths and weaknesses.

Maddock was sure Klink would not mistreat the residents locked up in the cooler. They were uncomfortable, but they could handle the pressure. Meanwhile, back at the office, he stood before an irate and worried Kommandant.

"I was in the middle of dealing with camp numbering problems…on General Burkhalter's orders. Now that job will have to wait." Klink took the large stack of files on his desk and plopped them in the bottom drawer. "He will not be happy about that, and he certainly will not be happy to hear that a large group of men escaped from a work detail. And if he is not happy, I am not happy."

Maddock had no words. He realized being cheeky and mentioning that Klink should be relieved to drop the numbering issue for the time being would probably not be wise.

Klink prattled on. "Do you realize the amount of paperwork this means? Not to mention what could happen to me if these men are not caught; or the consequences if they are caught elsewhere by others. I have to report this. This is not like the other times. This is what we in the Kommandant business call a mass escape."

Maddock almost felt sorry for the Kommandant. The man was clearly distraught, but he still had hope that Otto would find the prisoners hiding out in the small cave. They would either find their way back to camp and turn themselves in, or find one of Klink's patrols.

The phone began ringing with reports, and Maddock stood for quite some time as Klink directed the search from the office. He began to worry, as there was no word on the missing prisoners, and they had not shown up at the gate. A tap on the door interrupted the two. It was Helga, a welcome sight, carrying a tray.

"Kommandant, I thought you could use a nice break. Some tea and pastries perhaps to take your mind off this crisis?" she asked.

Klink put down the phone. "That's very kind of you my dear. And I am glad your emergency at home has been resolved." He noticed the two plates and two cups on the tray. He narrowed his eyes at Maddock. "None for the sergeant, Fraulein. Unless he has something to say…"

"No, sir. Except I take full responsibility, sir."

The phone rang again. "Yes? They are probably heading for either the Swiss border or the western border. I know that is a lot of area to cover. But they could not have gone far. No wait, there are four Frenchmen missing. Concentrate on that direction. Hold on." Klink put his hand over the receiver. "Maddock, go back to your hut. I'll deal with you later."

"I do hope everyone is found safe, no matter where they may be. It is dangerous out there, and it is foolish for these men to try and leave," Helga stated, as she gave Maddock a look.

Maddock held open the door for Helga. Once they were in the outer office, she whispered. "I'm sorry I couldn't warn you sooner. They were not in the cave."

"Now we have a whole other group of guards looking," Maddock whispered back. "What a mess."

True to Klink's word, after a short while with no sign of the missing men, he notified authorities of the mass escape. All of Germany was on the lookout for them. Klink's reputation was at stake, for if he failed, he was in danger of being demoted, ridiculed, or worse, transferred.

Maddock sat alone in his office, waiting on pins and needles for any word. He periodically looked out the window, hoping to see the trucks carrying the seven remaining prisoners back to camp. As one truck pulled in, he quickly ran and opened the door. The prisoners jumped off the back and marched over to the Kommandantur. Maddock stepped out of the hut and made it halfway across the compound before being stopped.

"All prisoners are restricted to barracks," growled the guard.

Maddock held up his hands in a sign of surrender. "I know that, Corporal. But I have a right to be present when prisoners are questioned."

'If the Kommandant wants you, he will send for you." The guard lowered his rifle. "He is not in a good mood, and I do not want to interrupt him. Please, Sergeant."

As another guard approached, Maddock realized he would lose this argument, and he turned around and went back to the barracks. Several minutes later, the work party returned to their huts. Newkirk and LeBeau entered, and were immediately ushered over to the table.

"Cor blimey, was Klink mad." Newkirk said. "But you should have seen it. It worked like a charm. Just a little diversion for a call of nature, someone getting hurt by a rake, and off they flew."

"Like a bird," LeBeau added.

"Never mind that," Maddock said. "We have a serious problem."

One pair was caught a day later trying to board a train at the next stop. Ironically, they were noticed by a few of the guards meant for the other camp. Although the prisoners were heading one way, and the guards were heading the other, they were alert to any suspicious activity and raised the alarm.

The increased patrols at the French/German border caught two more pairs, and two of the guards from Stalag 13 caught the final pair by accident, when a tired Langenscheidt and Schultz stopped for a drink at a Hofbrau quite a distance away and bumped into the two prisoners, who up until that point had evaded everyone.

Maddock sat with his knees drawn up to his chest, hoping that he could keep in some body heat. Although it was autumn, the cooler lived up to its name. It was quite cold and damp inside his enclosed cell, and he shivered as he thought about the poor prisoners who had spent time inside the cooler during the winter months. He had a lot of time on his hands; four hours to kill before the guard would bring him his next meal, and another three weeks to go before he completed his sentence. Nothing to do until then but get lost in his own thoughts.

"How could everything go so horribly wrong?" Sitting on the cot was not helping his chill. Maddock got up and began pacing around the cell. Every so often, he would wrap his arms around himself and jump up and down a few times. He would then resume his pacing. "How could I be such an idiot?" Although he knew many factors, such as the lack of real-time communication with the Underground, (now remedied, he heard) hurt the escape party, he blamed himself. Winter was setting in, and escapes were now off the table.

A scraping noise brought Maddock out of his self-pity. He stood up and walked over to the sink by the wall. The noise started again. Maddock then smiled. He pushed aside the sink and stood back. Several seconds later, the concrete moved, and Louis LeBeau's face looked up at the MOC.

"You broke through!" Maddock exclaimed.

"Oui! And I brought you some dinner."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N There is a Star Trek reference in this chapter. Can anyone find it?
> 
> I have been attempting to research the actual number of successful and attempted escapes, (for Western Allied POWs) and the statistics seem to be all over the place. One source I found had numbers in the tens of thousands, but no breakdown on time period, and if the escapes were from work parties, transports or from the camps. I did find that in most cases, recaptured prisoners were not sent back to the original camp. Some POW's escaped purposely from camps with severe conditions in order to get reassigned (if they were confident they wouldn't be sent to a concentration camp). A lot of sources were in German (found in footnotes).
> 
> From the Time-Life POW volume. Out of 169,000 POW's from the UK and Commonwealth, there were 6039 successful escapes. Out of 91,000 POW's from the United States (after 1942) there were 737 successful escapes. From the book "The Great Escape," 15,000 airmen from UK—730 reached home or neutral territory. Less than 2 percent of all POW's attempted escape. The time-life book (which is great, BTW) doesn't have footnotes, just an alphabetical bibliography.


	27. The Die is Cast

What's in a Name

Christmas, 1941

The Die is Cast.

One cold, snowy evening in December, Oskar and Greta Schnitzer entertained a houseful of guests. Oskar's niece, Heidi, and his father Rolf, who lived in a flat not far from Helga's apartment, were the first to arrive. The four sat in front of the fireplace, chatting about the holidays, the weather, and then, the war. The Americans entering on the side of the Allies cheered them, their optimism tempered by the knowledge that bombings would be sure to increase.

"Heidi should stay here with you," Oskar's father stated. "It will be safer. Although I don't know why they would bomb downtown Hamelburg."

"Bombs go off target all the time. But no, Grandfather." Heidi reached over and patted his arm. "I'll be fine. I think you should move here. Right, Uncle Oskar?"

"She makes good sense, Dad. We have the room." Oskar got up and stoked the fire.

"Besides, I may be moving to a larger place if I can find a suitable location. I ran into Helga the other day, and she mentioned that she would like to move out of her parents' flat," Heidi noted.

Both Greta and Oskar stared at Rolf.

"Oh, no. I couldn't," Heidi said as she realized what her aunt and uncle were thinking.

Rolf turned to Heidi. "You can and you will. In all honesty, the place is too big for me. It is hard to cook for one person, especially now. Besides, if I am here, I can help with Oskar's practice, and other things. I would love to take a look at that prison camp, Oskar." He winked at his son.

"So would I, Uncle."

Both Rolf and Heidi were members of the Underground cell, their participation mainly consisting of sewing jobs and keeping their eyes and ears open. They were also aware of what was going on underneath the camp.

There was a loud knock on the front door, and Greta rose from her chair. "That must be Helga and Otto now. Since her parents are ill, he offered to escort her here," Greta explained.

"How convenient." Rolf smiled. He found the young secretary a breath of fresh air, and he enjoyed hearing about the humorous side of the camp naming and numbering fiasco.

Otto and Helga offered greetings to everyone as they brushed the snow off their coats. They handed them to Oskar who hung them on a coat rack near the front entrance.

The secretary handed a large package to Greta. "Merry Christmas. Please open it. It's for everyone to share."

"Thank you so much." Greta tore the brown paper and removed a large box. She looked at Helga, and then opened it, revealing tins of jams, marmalades and tinned meat. "I can't accept this," she said. She showed the treasure to her husband.

"It's quite all right," Helga said. "The kommandant had presents sent over from France and gave me two boxes for the holiday. He really is quite kind. I gave the other box to my parents; the rationing is taking a toll."

"How are they?" Heidi asked.

"Better. They are in the end stage of their colds. Not as miserable, but not quite right. They send their regrets," Helga answered.

"Helga," Heidi said. "Remember our talk about finding a place together?"

"Yes. Although in these times, I doubt that is possible. I also do not think mother and father will be very happy, but I would like to move on. It is hard entertaining young men while your parents are in the kitchen," Helga said. "Not that there are many young men around," she quickly added.

"I agree. Well, we may have found our guardian angel," Heidi said, excited to give her friend the news. "Grandfather is moving here, and his flat will be available."

"That's wonderful!" Helga gave Rolf a kiss.

The man laughed. "I think I made the correct choice. What about the town and getting permission for the move? They could appropriate my flat, you know."

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, Dad. I still have some pull with the town. They think I'm the model citizen, and I've done them a lot of favors over the years."

Otto nodded. "He's the golden boy after his work at the prison camp, even if he isn't a party member."

"Perish the thought," Greta said. The two made a decision back in the early thirties not to put in an application for party membership. They could not live with themselves if they had. Fortunately, it did not affect Oskar's practice, although they did know of a few local businesses boycotted by local members of the Nazi party. The owners did not apply for membership and suffered the consequences.

"I'm sure the kommandant can also put in a good word," Helga added. "He does have some authority. He's the highest-ranking officer permanently stationed here." She giggled. "Although, come to think of it, authority may not be the correct word to describe the man. I think the prisoners may end up running the camp, if the kommandant is not careful."

"Speaking of the prisoners; how is their morale, lately?" asked Heidi. "Must be hard around the holidays."

Helga sat down. "It's been better. They are still upset over the failed escape. And Sergeant Maddock, that poor man; he spent quite a lot of time in the cooler as punishment. The kommandant was furious. Now he is strutting his record around like a peacock. No successful escapes. Honestly, I am getting tired of hearing about it. I can only imagine what the other kommandants and the upper echelon must think."

Greta passed around some of the contents of Helga's gift, and Otto tried a cracker with a bit of jam. "That is good. Pity it has to come from conquered territory. Now that the communications system is up and running between our cell and the camp, things may improve. Although, for obvious reasons, I will not divulge who is operating the other end."

"How's the Underground Railroad coming?" Rolf asked, using the American terminology for the safe houses and routes built to hide escaping slaves.

"Better, Dad." Oskar answered. "We are working on a northern escape route, just in case. And we can hide more men now, and for longer periods."

He did not clarify any further, but Helga assumed downed fliers and maybe escaping prisoners would hide for longer periods, frustrating the German patrols. Maybe, she thought, they would be in the tunnels. She smiled, thinking of her accidental contribution to the system.

"Enough business," Greta said. "Let's celebrate the holiday, which is why we are here. A toast." She raised her glass, and everyone else did the same. "To the Americans and to the defeat of Fascism."

The group of friends spent the rest of the evening reminiscing about better times.

Meanwhile…

A sullen group of men, still feeling the aftermath of the foiled escape attempt, celebrated their second Christmas as prisoners. As punishment, Klink closed the recreation hall for all of October, and reduced the hours for the rest of the year. Their electricity was cut, a real hardship, now that the days were short. The worst consequence, by far, was the transfer of several of the escapees. Those caught near the border were immediately sent to other camps. Klink informed the prisoners that this was normal practice, and there was nothing they could do to bring them back. Klink reassured Maddock that the kommandant at their new camp was humane, but the MOC felt a vast amount of guilt over this turn of events.

The Red Cross packages and gifts in the mail, for those lucky enough to receive them, lightened their spirits a bit, as did the entrance of the United States into the war. Although they knew the effects would not be felt for a while, it boosted their hope tremendously.

Escapes were off the table for the time being. However, the use of the tunnel as a place to hide more prisoners for a longer period, or maybe downed fliers, intrigued the Allied conspirators. After all, they hid Captain Marceau, and the flier Newkirk and LeBeau rescued months back could have waited there as well. With nothing better to do, the POW's began to make the tunnel more habitable, and they showed Oskar their progress. They set up a sleeping alcove in an area away from the main entrance to Barracks 2. The carpentry team easily put together several cots with extra wood and stolen mattresses. Whatever Red Cross rations and medical supplies they could spare were stored in a cupboard. They also built a small privy in an unused corridor.

"Plumbing would be nice," commented Bellows, who was conducting one of his periodic inspections. He pulled aside the curtain and gave the facility a peek. "Needs some flowers."

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Bellows." Maddock laughed. "One thing at a time."

Bellows and Maddock doubled back and headed down another corridor. This area linked the system to Barracks 6. Eventually, the prisoners would dig narrow access tunnels to other barracks. Bellows stood on a ladder as he examined the ceiling. "Looks good," he said. "How's the other storage area coming?" he asked.

"Just about done," Maddock replied. "We can start moving the Underground's chemical supplies in there by tomorrow, I think."

To the consternation of most of the prisoners, one of the larger Underground cells planned to create havoc by conducting bits of sabotage in the area. At first, the prisoners worried about reprisals and civilian round-ups. The Underground, more concerned with supplies, shrugged the prisoners' concern aside. For now, the tunnel system seemed the safest place to store them. Although the chemicals made everyone nervous, a contact assured them that as long as the chemicals remained separated, there was no danger.

In exchange for their help, the prisoners received more radio equipment from France. The telegraph system was in place, and radio contact between the camp and one brave anonymous soul living in Hamelburg was imminent. A radio operator (the camp had several) manned the communication area for several hours each evening after roll call. They were proficient, and they taught others how to use the equipment. Most of the prisoners knew enough Morse code to get by. Some prisoners took Morse and German lessons in clandestine classes. Hygiene lectures, and other innocuous subjects- the tutors could switch at a moment's notice-fooled the guards and the kommandant.

Several prisoners, transferred from nearby Stalag 5 due to overcrowding, verified that these small efforts at fighting back also took place in other camps.

The radio operator on call that night, an older sergeant in his mid-thirties, looked up as Maddock and Bellows approached. "Evening," he said. "Nothing on the telegraph. Picking up German radio, though." He frowned. "Just your usual screaming and martial music."

"How's the equipment holding up?" Maddock asked.

"All right for now. Not sure what to do if it breaks, especially the radio." He took a sip of his hot drink, and frowned. "Give anything for a right spot of tea."

"Can't you all fix it if it breaks?" Bellows asked.

"Not bloody likely, unless it's minor," the sergeant replied. "We can take these things apart and put them back together, but without the parts, it will be difficult. Some of the maintenance fellows back on base were better at it. We had other things to deal with up in the air."

"Well, we'll hope for the best. I'm sure we'll be hiding some fliers in here shortly," Maddock stated. "Right under the kommandant's nose."

"That will make my day, for sure," Bellows said.

The radio operator laughed. "Happy Christmas to you, Klink." He raised his mug. "And thank you for the hospitality."

And furthermore...

Klink squinted at his reflection in the mirror. What he saw, besides his receding hairline, was a proud and capable Oberst, commander of the toughest POW camp in Germany. He held himself up a little higher, and turned his head. Nodding in satisfaction, he completed his evening rituals, counting the strokes as he brushed his teeth. He left the bathroom and headed into his bedroom. Schultz had already turned down the sheets and was in the process of bringing Klink's nightly glass of warm milk to the kommandant.

Klink was in the middle of reading a novel, but before picking up the book, he reflected upon the last several months. Since he successfully masterminded the recapture of the eight missing prisoners, there had been no other escape attempts. "Took the wind out of your sails," he chuckled. His record was perfect, and, despite the small number of actual attempts, he felt more than justified rubbing it in. His camp population was tiny; he told all who would listen. So based on that, the percentage of attempts and recaptures were relative. It made sense that throughout the POW system, the massive camps, larger work details and longer transport convoys, would automatically have more attempted escapes. If some were successful, well, that was their fault. After all, they had more resources at their disposal.

As he told General Burkhalter, statistically speaking, Luft Stalag 13's record was more than remarkable. He frowned as he recalled Burkhalter's reaction. "So you've told me," the general repeated. Then he yelled at Klink again for not completing the task of fixing the numbering error.

Wisely, Klink did not remind the general the numbering error was responsible for the large group of extra guards sent to the wrong Hamelburg. After all, they helped recover some of the missing prisoners. Picking up his book, he removed the bookmark and began reading the next chapter. However, he had trouble concentrating. Whether it was the holiday, the weather, or the thought of a new year causing his lack of focus, he could not tell. Perhaps it was the news. The thought of the Americans entering the conflict gave him pause. Truthfully, he was not sure that declaring war on the United States was a good thing. The country was so big, and their manufacturing capacity, he had read before the war, was tremendous.

Recent rumors that Russians were retaking territory also worried him. But those issues were not his concern. For the most part, Klink preferred to stay safely under the radar and just worry about his camp. Soon enough, he realized, he would have to make room for American airmen. He had faith in the Luftwaffe, and he was sure they would shoot down the American planes in droves. A tap on the door interrupted his thoughts.

"Come in," Klink said.

The door opened and Schultz, carrying a tray, entered the room. As usual, he presented the kommandant's milk with a flourish.

"Your milk, Kommandant." Schultz placed the glass on the nightstand next to the bed. "Will there by anything else?"

"Thank you. Yes, Schultz. A question. Have you ever been to America?"

"No, Kommandant. Have you?"

"No. Although, and this is just between us, I have always wanted to go. Just because we are enemies now, well, it does not mean the Grand Canyon is less beautiful, or the Redwoods less majestic. Perhaps after the war, I will have a chance."

Schultz nodded in agreement. "Perhaps. Do you think the war will last longer, now that the Americans will be fighting?" he whispered. "Not that the Fuehrer does not know what he is doing," he quickly added.

Klink waved away Schultz's concern. "I do not believe so, and I would not worry." He took a sip of his milk. "The Americans do not have the stomach for war and fighting," he said, although he was not sure he believed it. "After all, it took a surprise attack by Japan to get them to actually declare war. They will soon tire of it. But meanwhile, Schultz, I believe we will soon see American airmen become our guests."

"Now that, Kommandant, will be interesting."

"Yes, it will. I'm set. You're dismissed."

"Thank you, Kommandant. Have a good night."

As Schultz left the room, the prospect of conversing with the Yanks cheered Klink, and he was able to go back to his reading.

While Schultz walked back to his quarters, he pondered over what the kommandant had said. He had fought the Americans during the previous war, and he did not think for a minute that the country would tire of fighting. Once the United States put their mind to something, they would not stop until the task was completed. Schultz was also a factory owner. He knew how easy it was to switch his toy factory over to armaments. He thought about all the factories in the United States. On the other hand, Klink was correct. American airmen would eventually be moving into this camp. He smiled as he recalled the doughboys he met after the armistice. Would they get along with the current but small group of multinational residents? He assumed they would work together. Schultz knew without a doubt, it was inevitable the new arrivals would change the camp. He just did not realize how much things would change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n:
> 
> I couldn't find Oskar's father's first name anywhere, so Rolf it is!
> 
> There are many theories as to why Hitler declared war on the United States first, and/or even if it was actually necessary, given the treaties/pact with Japan. Too much history to go through and I'm not confident in writing about that specific topic. I can see Klink having second thoughts, and then putting them out of his mind. And Schultz, as we know, is smarter than he appears. Whatever the reason, it was (like invading Russia) a colossel mistake. The Americans would have been more interested in fighting Japan over Germany, since it was Japan that attacked the country. In terms of Roosevelt's interests, as well as the rest of the interventionists who wanted to join the fight against Germany, Hitler declaring war first, was the best thing to happen.
> 
> There had to be quite a few wireless operators in the prison camp. (Not just Kinch and Baker, and my theory is that they worked on an airbase, not in the bombers.) The ground maintenance men may have been better at jury-rigging and fixing the equipment, although since the training of the wireless operators in both Air Forces was long and quite extensive, the operators had to know quite a bit about maintaining the equipment.
> 
> The lack of other prisoners working on the radios (the system of only having four , or five, if you count Olsen, men doing everything for the most part doesn't work) but that's how it is in the show, and it's hard to work around if you maintain canon.
> 
> Kinch and/or Baker couldn't be down there 24/7. And we know they had departments., such as Forgery, digging, metal workshop.. Why would the top operatives be responsible for digging tunnels, etc? (Because, Sue, it's just a TV show, and those were the actors with the lines, the contracts, and the equity card, LOL) I'm only speaking of work inside camp. The outside missions had to be limited to those with absolutely perfect German language skills. Same with impersonating Germans on phone calls and the radio.
> 
> So, I'm ignoring the contradictions. Eventually, for safety reasons, Hogan may have limited most important clandestine activity to the men in Barracks two, and a few others, and that was it, leaving the rest to meander in the compound and create diversions.


	28. Oh, The Yanks are Coming

.

What's in a Name

Chapter 28

Oh, the Yanks are Coming

summer, 1942

Two men dressed in civilian clothes, their faces covered in soot, crouched behind a set of low bushes as they scanned the sky above. Sweeping lights and flashes lit the dark shadows crossing above them. Allied bombers carrying death and destruction to the German industrial region plowed forward; many would not reach their destination.

Corporals Peter Newkirk and Louis LeBeau observed their second summer in captivity with a now familiar and terrifying nightly ritual, rescuing downed fliers before German patrols could take the poor men prisoner.

"How long have we been doing this, Louis?" asked Newkirk. "Three months?" His stomach was in knots, and it was all he could do to keep his hands from shaking. He really needed a cigarette, but lighting up was too dangerous.

"It's only been three weeks," said his calmer partner.

"Oy," Newkirk sighed. He absentmindedly fingered his dog tags. "Tell me why I volunteered for these missions again?" he whispered. The Cockney was not normally one for idle chatter, but he found talking kept his mind off the danger.

"Because the French and British operatives thought this was a good use of our time, the tunnels, and the Underground. And so far, the coordination seems to be working." LeBeau shifted to a more comfortable position. "For once I'm glad I'm short," he muttered. He poked his partner. "Isn't this better than sitting around the camp sewing uniforms and waiting for someone to come and liberate us? Besides, think of what we are doing for France."

"Go on and sing La Marseillaise," Newkirk said good-naturedly. His friend was correct. This was better than sitting around and doing nothing. Escaping was not an option right now, although perhaps in the future they would give it another go. He hoped the Kommandant would eventually forget his threat to transfer the two to another camp if they were caught outside the wire. Once the weather improved after the harsh winter, it fell to other prisoners to make amateur escape attempts just to gauge Klink's reaction. After the debacle in the fall, no one wanted to take any unnecessary chances. To everyone's relief, Klink acted as expected; humanely, calmly, and confused as to why anyone would deliberately leave his Waldorf near the Rhine, as some prisoners jokingly called the prison camp. After the foiled attempts, Klink added the captures to his now lauded (his words) no-escape record.

A bright flash caught the corporals' attention. They looked up, and to their dismay, they watched a bomber explode.

"Come on. Let's have the chutes." Newkirk's fright disappeared, as all he could think of were the poor blokes on the plane.

"Look." LeBeau pointed. He could make out three chutes floating down to earth, the outlines of the silk caught in the flashes and searchlights. As he and Newkirk had done four times before, they slowly and carefully made their way closer to the landing area. Now came the most dangerous part of their mission, finding the downed men and avoiding shots fired by either German patrols or the frightened fliers.

They waited until the men touched down, and listening carefully for the approach of patrols, they crept over to the front of the brush. Newkirk and LeBeau could vaguely hear the three airmen landing yards apart. By carefully maneuvering their flashlights, they observed the fliers gathering their chutes, meeting up with one another and scampering behind some trees that lay ahead and just over to the right.

As they crept closer, LeBeau and Newkirk heard some talking, and the sound of digging.

"They sound American!" LeBeau whispered to Newkirk. "Magnifique! Ils sont ici!" His excitement sent him speaking in his native language.

"Charming! We'll sing Yankee Doodle when we get back to camp. Which I'd like to do in one piece." Newkirk pointed, indicating it was time to make a move.

"Hey, chaps," he said in a loud whisper. "We're here to help." He and LeBeau stood up, hands raised in a sign of surrender.

"Anyone hurt?" LeBeau asked, in both French and English.

"Who are you?" A lieutenant's pistol was aimed at LeBeau and Newkirk. The other two men, both sergeants, were caught off guard. They dropped their shovels and stared.

"We're working with the Underground," Newkirk replied as he lowered his hands. "We have to move fast to get you out of here before the patrols find you." He took several steps closer, then stepped back as the officer released the safety catch and steadied his weapon.

"There's no resistance in Germany," said one of the sergeants. "How do we know you're not some Nazis in disguise?"

"Forget burying your chutes, mes amis. We have to leave. And you'll have to trust us." LeBeau, no longer calm, had a hard time stopping the tremor in his voice. He was still not used to this part of the rescue operation.

"Where are we, exactly?" asked the lieutenant, his suspicion obvious in his eyes and facial expression.

"Outside of Hamelburg. About an hour away from Dusseldorf." Newkirk turned and started walking in the direction of camp. LeBeau followed.

"Wait."

The two prisoners turned and faced the lieutenant.

The officer dropped his weapon. "Just testing. I was at a briefing when the flight officer mentioned something about resistance in this sector. Let's follow these two," he told the sergeants. "If they were Germans, they'd be in uniform and waving around more firepower than those revolvers they have stuck in their pants."

The sergeants picked up their chutes, and obeying their lieutenant's orders, they picked up the rear. LeBeau headed to the back of the group, while Newkirk took the point.

On their previous rescue missions, Newkirk and LeBeau were astonished at how quickly the downed airmen became accustomed to their new and precarious situation. Once the initial introductions were completed, they generally obeyed orders and dutifully followed the two corporals to their next stop. It was this stop, the tree stump outside a prison camp, that made all the airmen think twice about trusting their two rescuers. The three men Newkirk and LeBeau found this evening were no exception.

"Hold on there!" the lieutenant reached for his weapon, but before he could draw it, Newkirk tackled him to the ground. The two other Americans and LeBeau hit the dirt as well. The searchlights passed harmlessly over the group.

"Yes, I know. It's a prison camp." Newkirk's muffled voice whispered in the lieutenant's ear. "I promise you, it will all make sense in a minute." There was a break in the searchlights, and LeBeau was already opening the lid to the tree stump and ushering the other men down the ladder. Newkirk rolled off the officer and stood up. "Hurry up, mate. We've only got a few seconds." This time, the lieutenant did not hesitate, and he followed his crewmembers down into the tunnel. Newkirk and LeBeau hit the dirt one more time, and then after a few moments, climbed down.

There were always men waiting for Newkirk and LeBeau to return. When they stepped off the bottom rung, the corporals found Maddock already speaking with the rescued fliers.

"You're correct. This is sector six, but I assure you, as it says on your maps, this is Stalag 13. Lucky for us." He let out a small chuckle. "I know this is hard to process for now. Actually, it's hard for us to process," Maddock said as he ran his fingers through his hair. "While the Germans are out there looking for you, you can stay here and cool off until the search is stopped. Then we'll hand you off to some friends, and they will get you out of the country."

"The camp is above us?" asked one of the American sergeants. "Amazing."

"They didn't tell us this part in the briefing." The lieutenant turned to LeBeau and Newkirk and held out his hand. "Thank you. I'm Lieutenant Riley, the navigator." He pointed to the other members of his crew. "Barclay and Rand."

"Our pleasure, Lieutenant. Sergeants." Newkirk grabbed a towel and began rubbing the soot off his face. "Sorry about the rest of the crew."

"We lost four in the plane, a gunner, our captain, co-pilot and radioman. Three others jumped before us. Two of them were hurt." Riley began to turn a bit pale. "The captain kept us steady so we could all get out. Then it exploded." He took a deep breath. "We only heard about resistance activity in this sector," the lieutenant said. "I take it your friends work with the Underground? Can they find the rest of our crew? And how are they going to get us out of here?"

"We'll let them know about the rest of the men," Maddock stated. "As to getting you back to the Allies? That, well...I don't exactly know." Maddock handed some water to each of the men. "Information is tightly controlled. We successfully sent two men back with these people earlier in the war, and just recently, a few others left and are making their way along the route the Underground set up. It could change at any time. It depends on troop movements, and safe houses." He looked up as that night's radioman, a corporal from Barracks 8, approached.

"All set. The message was received and acknowledged. Anything else?"

"Tell them there are three more crewmembers out there. That's it for now." Maddock turned to the three airmen. "You'll have to stay down here, but you have company. We have monitors down here most nights. O'Brien will show you around and get you settled. Whatever you do, don't come upstairs."

Riley nodded. "Understood."

The prisoners returned to the barracks to settle in for a few hours sleep. They were now feeling the affects of fatigue, a state familiar to them from combat. But they also felt a sense of accomplishment.

"Good work." Maddock was meeting with Newkirk and LeBeau in his office before they all turned in. This is getting to be a habit."

"This could go on every night as long as the weather holds, or the Allies bomb everything and there is nothing left." Newkirk said. "Ruddy war. Our blokes are taking a beating."

LeBeau yawned. "I hope I have the energy to cook tomorrow."

"I think we need backup." Maddock yawned as well. "You can't do all this yourself. I'll have to start looking for other volunteers tomorrow. We may have to go with non-German speakers. In fact..."

"No, you stay here. You have to man the fort down below." Newkirk's tone was firm. "If you get caught, especially after the escapes last fall, they'll throw the book at you. It's too risky. I'll find people. Don't you worry."

"I shouldn't have men taking risks I'm not willing to take," Maddock argued. "That's part of being a sergeant. You know that."

LeBeau and Newkirk exchanged glances, LeBeau giving a little shake of his head, while Newkirk shrugged.

"If you want a decent breakfast, John, I need to get to bed." LeBeau stifled another yawn.

"Go on." Maddock ushered the two out and closed the door. He stretched out his back, and rolled his shoulders several times to get out the kinks.

"Wait one minute. Who gives the orders around here?" Turning, he was about to go after the two corporals, then thought better of it. Newkirk and LeBeau were the two best operatives in the barracks. No, they were the best operatives in camp, for that matter. Since the failed escape, they managed to improve morale while earning the trust of several guards, most noticeably Schultz and Langenscheidt. Schultz, in turn, liked to blab about the visiting dignitaries, and on occasion, Newkirk was able to break into Klink's office safe and describe what was on important documents, and this information was passed to the Underground. The prisoners, while biding their time waiting for another escape opportunity, or the still far-off dream of liberation, did not feel so helpless anymore.

What Maddock did not realize, as he turned in for the night, was that events would soon test his command, and would make him think twice about continuing as MOC.

HhHhH

Klink was informed about the downed aircraft in the middle of the night. He sent out several groups of guards to search for the airmen, but the guards returned empty-handed. He hoped the Wehrmacht patrols would have better luck, and he settled into his office that morning ready to assist or to accept any captured prisoners. He and Helga worked on paperwork, the naming mess, and other mundane matters.

That afternoon, Schultz entered the office. Two privates, both carrying several boxes, followed.

"Put those there." Schultz pointed to the floor. "And then go get the rest of the boxes from the car."

Helga stood up and peered over the desk. "Hello, Hans. What are in the boxes?"

"Hello, Helga."

The privates placed two more boxes on the floor. Schultz thanked the two and dismissed them.

"Something the Kommandant sent me to get. Oh, that is right. Forgive me. You probably don't know."

"Know what?"

Schultz bent down to her level, and whispered. "Did you hear about the plane?"

"Yes. It crashed outside of town. Those poor men." Helga knew Schultz had a soft heart and would not want to see anyone hurt or killed.

"It was an American plane."

Helga's eyes opened wide.

"And, there were parachutes."

"Are we getting prisoners?" Helga asked. Besides the three hiding in the tunnel.

"We hope so. That is why the Kommandant sent me to get some things. Our first American prisoners. He is upset that Stalag 5 got their Americans first."

As if it is a contest, Helga thought. Men.

"That is very interesting, Sergeant. Shall I announce you?"

That was not necessary, as Klink, who had heard the voices outside his door, opened it. "Ah, Schultz you're back." Seeing the four boxes, he sighed happily. "You made out better than I had hoped. Well, let's see what you've brought."

He turned to Helga. "I sent Schultz out to get some items for the American prisoners. To make them feel more comfortable. It will take a while before their own Red Cross items get here, you know. They have an ocean to cross, and we keep sinking the ships."

Helga stood up. "You're very kind and generous, Kommandant. I can clean off the desk, and you can open them here." She felt bad about Schultz bending down.

The sergeant picked up the first box. "I couldn't find any American books as they were all burned. There are some in the prison library anyway. But, here are some items." He began to remove the contents of the box.

"Is this a baseball?" Klink picked up a ball. "That's as hard as a cricket ball."

"That is a baseball, Kommandant. And this is the glove they use to catch it in." Schultz handed Klink the mitt. "Wrong hand. Put it on your left hand."

"Ah. I see. Well, you definitely need this to catch that ball. It would hurt, otherwise. Do you have the bats?"

"Yes. I had them stored with the cricket bats. I also have some more sporting equipment, and some games they play in the United States."

"Marvelous." Klink was delighted. "Well-done, Schultz. How did you manage to find these items?"

"Contacts," Schultz answered, not elaborating. Helga smiled at him, and the sergeant smiled back. "Kommandant, are we getting the prisoners?"

"So far, I have not heard a word." Klink removed the mitt from his hand and placed it in the box. "We will get some Americans eventually. Take these to the recreation hall, and have some prisoners put the items away. I want them to know our men are shooting down American planes."

The phone rang and Helga picked it up. "Yes he is. Hold please. Kommandant, it is the town garrison commander." She handed Klink the phone.

"Klink here. Yes. When? Splendid. He did? Well, that makes sense. General Burkhalter is quite pleased with our operation here. Very good. Thank you."

Klink hung up the phone. "Helga, Schultz. The three surviving fliers have been captured, and they are being sent straight here. I must make preparations." He hurried into his office and closed the door.

"He's probably celebrating." Schultz frowned. He walked over to the door, and called for a guard. As the boxes were removed from the outer office, Helga wondered how this new complication would affect the men waiting to be processed and turned over to the Underground.

HhHhH

"Hey, Schultz. What's in those boxes?" Newkirk stood on his toes and tried to peek inside.

"Nothing."

"Well, it isn't nothing, is it? If it was nothing, you wouldn't need help carrying them out of there and over to the rec hall. Would ya? Did you bring us something new to keep us occupied?"

"Not exactly. Well, maybe." Schultz tried to sidestep the Englander, but Newkirk was very nimble, and seemed to always be one step ahead of the sergeant. "You will find out soon enough."

"Why don't you tell me now and save the trouble?" Newkirk removed a candy bar from his pocket and waved it in front of the sergeant's nose. This did the trick.

Schultz stopped and took the bar. "Take them inside," he told the other guards. "I'll be right there. Actually, Newkirk. I need some men to empty them and put the stuff away. I will tell you. I have, in those boxes, American sporting equipment. Like baseballs and gloves. And some other things." He took a bite of the candy bar and sighed. "This is good."

"Yes, I know. Why American sporting items? Why now?"

"A plane was shot down last night. Men from that plane are coming here."

Newkirk gulped. "I see. Thanks, Schultz. Got to go."

"But wait, don't you…" Schultz shook his head. "That Englander." Seeing some prisoners standing idly by, he pointed. "You and you. I need things put away in the recreation hall."

HhHhH

"Well, that's just dandy." Maddock snapped a pencil. "At least we know they survived the jump. You know when they are coming in?"

"No, he didn't say. Are you going to tell our guests?" Newkirk asked. He picked up both pencil halves, and put them in the can on Maddock's desk.

"I don't know," Maddock said honestly. "On one hand, it wouldn't be right to withhold that information. Besides, they are worried about them. On the other hand, how do you think they'll react if they find out they can leave, but the rest of the crew are stuck here for a while?"

"That is a fine mess." Newkirk left Maddock alone so that the sergeant could come to a decision. Not for the first time, the corporal realized he was happy to be a cog in the machine, and not commanding the works.

Maddock remained in his office for over an hour. Thinking about his dilemma, he mentally made a list of the pros and cons. Finally, he made his decision.

Maddock gathered his strength, and climbed down the ladder into the tunnels. He acknowledged the few prisoners working down there, and walked over to where the airmen were standing; they were in the process of trying on civilian clothes.

The three greeted the sergeant as he approached.

"Morning," he said. "How are you making out?"

"Getting our outfits together," was the reply from Lieutenant Riley. "Any word?"

"Yes, well, that is why I'm here." Maddock took a walk around the three men, checking out their attire. "Not a bad fit. Sorry, but there has not been any word from the Underground." Technically, that was not a lie. Seeing the fallen faces of the three Americans hit Maddock in the gut. I hope I'm doing the right thing, he thought sadly. "I'll let you know if I hear from them."

"Thank you, Sergeant." Riley shifted a bit and pulled up his pants. "I think these need a bit taking in. Any idea of when we can leave?"

"We should hear tonight," Maddock replied. "You'll be leaving through the tunnel. Someone from the Underground will meet you there." The last men rescued left in Oskar's truck, but Maddock did not want these three men in the compound. The chance of seeing the other members of their crew was too great.

After giving the men a few more instructions, he let other prisoners take over the preparations, and went up top. All of the residents of Barracks 2 were waiting for him.

"I just did something I didn't want to do," Maddock told them. "And I feel awful about it."

"You did what you had to do." LeBeau handed the MOC a mug of coffee. "We don't know how those three would have reacted. Same with the new prisoners. It wasn't worth the chance."

"You're right." Maddock took a sip, and then made a face. "Maybe we'll get better coffee in the American Red Cross packages. Listen. Except for roll calls, I want someone down there with those three 24/7 until they leave. And we need to spread the word about the incoming prisoners. No one is to say anything to them or the men down below."

"How about if we put them in here?" one of the residents asked. "That way we can keep an eye on them. We have the extra room."

"That's a great idea." Maddock snapped his fingers. "Except the tunnel entrance is in the middle of the floor."

"Hopefully, the other ones will be out of here by then," LeBeau said. "We can still use the dog house."

"Or the rolling fence." Maddock nodded. "Yes, I like that idea. I'll suggest it to Schultz. There shouldn't be any problem."

There were no issues with the plan. Fortunately, the new prisoners arrived after the rescued airmen left; the delay was due to medical treatment of the injured.

HhHhH

A week later, the three new prisoners, Foster, Mills and Saunders, sat down with Maddock and Newkirk. Amazed at the tunnel operation and the description of their captors, they did not seem disappointed that, for now, a mass escape was on the back burner.

"So, Schultz has been trained." Newkirk laughed. "We have him eating out of our hands."

"Literally," Maddock added with a chuckle.

"The Kommandant is not what I expected," Saunders commented. "And that secretary…?"

"The secretary is off-limits," Maddock warned. "Klink is an old-school aristocrat. He's not bad, but he's still a German officer. I doubt he has been effective. He should have advanced by now. He's also afraid of being noticed, in the wrong way, that is."

He then got serious and told them about the other three crewmembers. "As soon as we get word that they made it back safely, a message will be sent to England. They'll be told you three are all right and were sent here."

That news took a while to sink in. Seeing the look on the airmen's faces, Maddock and Newkirk glanced at each other. Maddock quickly stood up. "I know this is a shock. We'll leave." He and Newkirk left the three Americans alone in Maddock's office. The two could hear a heated discussion taking place behind the closed office door.

"How did it go?" asked Foss, who was visiting.

"Good, up until I told them about the other men." Maddock still felt sick about his decision.

"It's not like you got someone killed," Foss said. It took quite some time before the door opened and the three men walked into the common room.

"We understand," Foster said. "Not that we like it, but you did what you had to do. We're just glad those three are safe, and that they have a good chance of getting back to the fighting." He held out his hand.

Maddock smiled and took the sergeant's hand in his. "Thanks." He shook Foster's hand, and acknowledged Mills and Saunders.

"I guess this is a good time to tell you that I speak German," Foster said, as the rest of the prisoners gathered around and officially welcomed the three new prisoners to the fledgling clandestine operation.

Meanwhile, somewhere in the skies over England, the RAF and the fairly new, but pesky American bomber group-the 504th, trained for a joint bombing mission. Their upcoming target? Hamburg.


	29. An Eagle in Your Cage

What's in a Name

Chapter 29

An Eagle in Your Cage

The title of this chapter is taken from the episode, "Hogan Gives a Birthday Party."

Author's note: Stronger and more disgusting language in a scene in this chapter would have been more authentic. (You can all probably guess what kind of words). I can't write that way, even if I blocked out some of the letters. Therefore, what Colonel Hogan is reacting to in the scene is obviously much worse than my interpretation.

General Burkhalter let out a small grin as he hung up his phone. He walked over to his credenza and poured himself a sherry. After draining the glass, he opened the door to the outer office and asked his aide to place a call. After several moments, the person was on the line.

"I hear congratulations are in order, General. I was informed that your group shot down that thorn in your side."

"Thank you," replied the newly promoted Luftwaffe officer. "It was not a surprise, mind you. I have been working on this for quite some time, as you know. But, it feels good. Very good. And it was simpler than I anticipated." Biedenbender leaned back in his chair. He felt unusually relaxed considering the tension experienced several days prior. He likened it to a balloon being blown up over a long period of time, only to finally burst, releasing all the pent up air. In his case, it was adrenalin and pressure.

"Well, I have some good news for you," Burkhalter said. "I just received word that Colonel Hogan and his crew have been captured. It took several days, but they are now in our hands. In fact, they are on their way to the interrogation center."

Biedenbender stood up. "That's marvelous! I did not know if they survived. I strongly doubt our people will get anything out of the colonel." He nodded his head. "No, I am sure of it. Watch where he is assigned. That man is a devil."

"He will likely be sent to an officer's camp. His days of causing any trouble are over," Burkhalter stated.

Causing trouble was the first thing on Hogan's mind. While he did not want to tempt fate and be shot, he had no intention of rolling over and meekly accepting his fate. He hoped to create just enough havoc so that he did not feel helpless. Facing his new predicament one step at a time, Hogan set out a series of goals. His first, to survive the interrogation center, was complete. After ten days of intensive interrogation, the Germans gave up on getting anywhere with the colonel and transferred him to the transit area of the complex, where along with other airmen, he waited for an assignment to a prison camp.

After speaking with the small Allied staff, he discovered his crew was transferred out before he was released from interrogation. The conditions at the transit camp were bearable and the permanent Allied personnel did a fine job of caring for the temporary inmates. Hogan needed fresh air and to regain his strength, and so he spent a great deal of time walking around the compound. As he regained his health, he closely observed the men for signs of stress, fear, illness and anger. All these emotions could lead to a confrontation, which could lead to someone being killed. He felt it was his duty to keep these men safe and to boost their morale. He also kept an eye out for collaboration or infiltration by German spies. His ability to speak fluent German helped him in this regard, and he steered prisoners away from suspected plants.

Hogan knew of one officer camp, Stalag 3, that was run by the Luftwaffe. It was quite a distance away. Escaping was the first thing on his mind, and it would be easier to get back to England if he did not have an entire country to cross. While in solitary confinement at the Dulag, the colonel had plenty of time to think, and he recalled a briefing from the year before. In his mind, he could picture a sector of Germany south of Dusseldorf. A resistance cell operated in this area, and a small Luftwaffe-run prison camp was located close to the nearby town of Hamelburg. He was aware that enlisted camps often housed a sprinkling of officers, and so his second goal was to manipulate a transfer to this camp. Either en route, or once there, he would somehow attempt an escape. Speculation about their future was a common topic amongst the new prisoners, and when he was sure guards were listening, Hogan began to mention the Hamelburg camp in his conversations. It was a place he wished to avoid, he would say, as he heard rumors of a tough staff, and a long string of unsuccessful escapes. The truth of what he was saying did not concern him.

On his third day in the transit camp, Hogan's intuition sensed something was amiss. He came across an unusual scene behind the latrines. A small crowd of American airmen had gathered, and the guards, instead of breaking up the group, were watching the Americans with some amusement. To his chagrin, he could hear heckling and abusive language. (see author's note at top of chapter)

As he pushed some men aside, others moved away as they spotted the colonel's arrival. Several nodded in appreciation, murmuring to others that the officer would have something to say about the new arrivals. Hogan could not believe his eyes. Three colored men were the target of the abuse. Each time they tried to maneuver their way around the crowd, they were blocked. Instead of lashing out in return, the three, heads held high, stood calmly in front of the rest of the American airmen. The colonel, now the highest-ranking American officer in the camp, did not even pause a second to question how these three men had been taken prisoner. Instead, he turned and faced the crowd. Seeing the look on the colonel's face, several men stepped back.

He glared at the guards, and then at the Americans in front of him. "So, you are all doing Goebbels' job for him?" His voice was icy; his body ramrod straight.

"No, sir," one of the airman replied quietly.

One airman, a lieutenant, stepped forward. "We were just conducting our own investigation, sir. Trying to find out where these new prisoners came from. Seems unlikely they were shot down." He then mumbled a derogatory term.

Out of the corner of his eye, Hogan spied the three, led by the oldest looking man in the group, slowly walking away from the crowd. Several of the hecklers started doing the same, but Hogan's voice stopped them in their tracks. "None of you are dismissed."

Hogan stepped closer to the lieutenant, and stopped several inches from the officer's face. "If I hear about or see another display like this one, there will be hell to pay. Is that clear?"

The men responded with a few half-hearted affirmations.

Hogan stepped back. "You all disgust me. Now get out of my sight."

His stomach now in knots, Hogan returned to his barracks. Legs crossed and hands clasped behind his head, he lay on his bunk for over an hour, stewing over another all too familiar display of American racism. The country's obsession-he disagreed with the internment of Japanese-Americans as well-would, in the long run, hinder the war effort. He knew that keeping up a segregated military was wasting vital resources and manpower. The problem, he also realized, was while some of the higher-ups in the military and government were willing to desegregate the military, many in the nation were not. It was a terrible conundrum, and he had memories of frequent heated discussions in both in the states and in England, a few culminating in loss of friendship, and perhaps issues with his career.

Finally, once he calmed down, he admitted he was wondering how the three colored men got captured and decided to seek out them out. It did not take long to spot them. They were alone, seated on the ground next to a building. As Hogan headed in that direction, another airman approached the three. Hogan stopped. However, there was no altercation. The man, he looked to be in his mid-twenties, said something to the three, and then laughed. The three grinned, and one pointed to the ground. The white prisoner gave a quick look around the area and sat down. The conversation then continued, the white man using a stick to write in the dirt.

Hogan strolled over to the group. One of the colored men, he seemed to be the youngest of the three, looked up at that moment, and scrambled to his feet. The rest followed. One quickly moved the dirt around, covering up the writing.

"At ease." Hogan wrapped his arms around himself, and looked down at the ground. He recognized the white sergeant from an earlier brief encounter in the compound. "Olsen, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir."

The sergeant showed no fear. Hogan expected the sergeant to automatically say something in defense of his position, for he had been caught socializing with outcasts. The young man's confident demeanor intrigued him. Despite the present predicament and uncertain future, Olsen's eyes sparkled with intelligence and humor. He reminded Hogan of a racehorse in its stall, primed for an upcoming contest, ready at any moment to take off running. In contrast, the three other men were quiet and reserved; the one he took to be the eldest and natural leader of the group exhibited a calm and self-assured bearing. Hogan nodded, and let out a small smile. "And you three are?"

The group leader spoke first. "Sergeant James Kinchloe, sir."

"Richard Baker, sir."

"Garth Broughton, sir."

"You're probably wondering how we ended up here," Kinchloe stated.

"That would be correct," Hogan replied.

Olsen let out a quick chuckle.

"It's a long story." Kinchloe grinned. "Would you like to sit down?" He pointed to the ground.

Hogan shrugged and grabbed a place next to the wall. He wrapped his arms loosely around his knees and waited. Once everyone was situated, he nodded at Kinchloe. "Go on."

"We're assigned to communications. Fixing electronics, regular maintenance. We were in a unit that was sent out to temporary assignments. We had to work on a plane that was really bad; but the pilot, Captain Paris, wanted it fixed as fast as possible. Once the other systems were taken care of, the three of us went to work on the communication systems. He thought it would be a good idea to go on a test run before putting it back in service, and he invited us along.

"Rather than his own crew?" Hogan asked.

"Oh, it's not what you think, sir." This came from Baker. "We've done some test runs before for a couple of officers. Except this time, we didn't come back."

"We had some trouble over the channel. Right near the coast," Kinchloe explained. "We didn't go out far, but it was far enough. We had to ditch. We radioed for help, but unfortunately, a German sub found us first."

Hogan nodded. "Rotten luck. Where's Paris?"

"He got sent to a camp right before you got here," Kinchloe said. "We were just released from interrogation."

"Olsen, are you from the same group as Paris?"

"Not exactly, sir. If you'll excuse me for a second, Colonel." Not waiting to be dismissed, Olsen popped up like a jack in the box, and waved to another prisoner. He hurried over to him, and after a short conversation, the other man followed.

"Colonel Hogan, this is Sergeant Roy Goldman."

The sergeant's salute was returned. He nodded at Kinchloe and his crew, then at Hogan's invitation took a seat. The six now sat in a semi-circle, Hogan, Kinchloe and Broughton using the building as a backrest, while the other three sat opposite.

Hogan looked over at the area of dirt Olsen had used as a canvas. There were no guards within earshot, but he still kept his voice down. "What were you writing?" he asked Olsen directly.

"German."

"He was helping me with some spelling," Kinchloe added.

"Kinch speaks it fluently," Broughton noted proudly.

"Not as good as Olsen." Kinch grabbed hold of a stick and began drawing circles in the dirt.

Hogan was not ready to reveal his skill with the language. However, he was curious about Olsen. "Where did you learn German?" he asked the sergeant directly.

"My mother and her family," was his terse response.

Hogan sensed he hit a nerve and decided to forgo any more interrogation at this point.

"If you don't mind me asking, Colonel. What exactly is going on near that Luftwaffe camp you keep talking about? Seems that's the place you want to be, although hopefully the Krauts think the opposite and take the bait." Kinchloe put down the stick and looked at Hogan expectantly; he appeared to have every confidence that Hogan would confide in the group and explain his plan.

Hogan's jaw dropped. Am I too obvious? He was doing a lot of second-guessing of himself lately; despite his adjustment and set of goals, he admitted his confidence was off. Being shot down would affect anyone's mental strength. Or perhaps this sergeant was very observant.

"Luft Stalag 13, is closer to the Western border. Escaping is a whole lot easier if you don't have to cross an entire country."

"And if you have help," Olsen added.

Five pairs of eyes turned and stared at the sergeant.

"I heard something when I was with the RAF. I couldn't become a pilot, but I stayed with them until we entered the war. We never personally met, Colonel, but I knew what you looked like. That's why I vouched for you here."

"My captain heard a rumor that there were civilians in that sector helping airmen escape," Goldman said. "It sounds crazy."

"I heard it in a briefing." Hogan decided to explain his plan. "You're right, Kinchloe. I am trying to manipulate the Krauts into sending me there. That's why I've been mentioning the camp. I doubt they'd be that stupid, but it's worth a shot."

"I'd like a shot at ending up there. Getting out of here as soon as possible is probably in my best interest." Goldman sounded lighthearted, but everyone could sense his fear under the surface.

The rest of the noncoms muttered their agreement.

Hogan got to his feet. "Well, feel free to express your concerns about the toughest prison camp in all of Germany." He wiped the dirt off his pants.

As the group dispersed, Olsen hurried to catch up to the colonel before Hogan disappeared into his barracks. "I know that area. I'm sorry I didn't say anything before, but my mother is from here, and we lived in Dusseldorf until I was sixteen. That camp is near Hamelburg. I spent a lot time around there when I was a kid."

"How good are your acting skills?" Hogan asked, concluding that if he was lucky enough to be transferred to Luft Stalag 13, he wanted these five men to go with him. Although he realized there was very little chance of Kinchloe, Broughton and Baker escaping, he wanted to give them every opportunity, no matter how slim. He was also concerned about Goldman's future treatment. Meanwhile, Olsen's background and familiarity was a plus. He had no reason to suspect the sergeant of lying, but he also had a nagging suspicion that the airman was hiding something.

"As good as your German, sir."

This man is going to give me an ulcer. Hogan grabbed Olsen's arm, and in a manner that meant business, he pulled the sergeant back towards an area devoid of other prisoners or guards. Waste was dumped here, and the smell was very unpleasant, but it was secluded. "Who are you?"

"I was a gunner in the 918th. But before then, I was with the RAF. I joined around the same time you did, Colonel." Olsen spoke quietly in German. "Let's just say that between postings, I had some intelligence training."

The colonel replied in English. "I see. You need to work on your military deportment, Olsen." Hogan suspected that Olsen's deficiency in this area was why he was still a sergeant.

"Yes, sir." The two began walking back towards the compound. "You think we can pull this off? I already heard some of the guards mention that prison camp."

"The key is to keep at it, but without going overboard." As they got within range of some guards, Hogan poked Olsen in the arm. "So, Sergeant, in answer to your question, I don't know how they decide who goes where."* He lowered his voice. "I did hear that some camps are better than others. There is one near Dusseldorf that has a bad reputation."

"I'll start praying, Colonel," Olsen commented as he and Hogan parted ways. Meanwhile, the other four men, and several other prisoners who caught on, continued the ruse.

Hogan, in particular, would have been surprised to learn that the transit camp administration did not fall for his machinations or acting.

The Germans frankly did not pay much attention to the rumors making their way through the transit area. What they did pay attention to was the ongoing drama supplied by the arrival of three colored prisoners and the outward display of American racism. They noted the colonel's outrage, as well as who consorted with the colored sergeants. These three men were already assigned to the small Hamelburg camp, since the German bureaucracy did not have issues sending them to a site near the border. After all, where would they go? In addition, the Kommandant's boasting annoyed other prison camp bureaucrats and they thought gleefully of his shock as he welcomed those three undesirables.

In a fit of half rage/half amusement, an administrator assigned the high-ranking American officer and those who seemed closest to him to the same Stalag.

"If they are so comfortable consorting with Untermenschen, they can go spend the rest of the war with them, as far as I'm concerned." He handed the orders to his aide.

"But what about Colonel Hogan?" the aide wondered. "Won't his presence inflate Klink's ego even more? This will be the first officer at the camp. And he has quite a reputation."

"Yes, Colonel Hogan is aggravating. They can annoy each other," was his superior's reply. "Or the colonel will formally request a transfer to an officer's camp. It will be up to the general in charge of that sector to deal with him."

The transfer of the prisoners to Luft Stalag 13 took place several days later. Hogan was the only officer in the group. In addition to Olsen, Goldman, Kinchloe, Broughton and Baker, four other Americans were put on the truck. On the way, they picked up several other trucks and formed a small convoy. The Americans spent a long and anxious day traveling, stopping only a few times near wooded areas. The group had no idea as to where they were headed, and their escorts were tight-lipped. Escaping from the convoy was not an option.

It was not until Olsen began recognizing the area that the group dared to think that Hogan's plan had worked. The trucks pulled into the camp, and guards began unloading the prisoners and their belongings. As the men lined up beside the trucks, they nervously glanced at one another. There were no signs designating the camp number from this angle, but Hogan could see that the facility was small. The door to the camp office opened, and a very large guard, a young British sergeant, and the man Hogan assumed was the camp Kommandant, headed over to the formation. The men all noticed the posture and demeaner of the German officer. He was slightly hunched over, and carrying a crop of some sort under his arm. As he got closer, a monocle was visible.

Hogan stepped several strides in front of the formation, and saluted. His salute was returned. The Kommandant, an oberst, began to speak.

"I am Kommandant Klink. Welcome to Luft Stalag 13." He paused. "For all of you, your war is over."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like my explanation as to how Kinch and the other black airmen got captured this early in the war. I decided not to go into details regarding Hogan's bombing run, etc. The actual historical dates don't really work. (for American or joint raids over Hamburg) So, here we have to leave history behind and just remember this is fiction.
> 
> Notes: sources: wikipedia, also: The Long Road: Trials and Tribulations of Airmen Prisoners from Stalag Luft VII (Bankau) to Berlin , June 1944 - May 1945 by Oliver Clutton-Brock, Raymond Crompton.
> 
> some prisoners were sent directly from interrogation to a prison camp, bypassing the transit center. There is a large article on Wikipedia that describes the Dulag Luft, the transit camp, the staff, etc. Check it out; it is very detailed and interesting. Stalag Luft 3 is the camp from the "Great Escape." The transit camp had an actual escape committee and according to sources, the Brits initiated the first mass escape. (all were recaptured).
> 
> The 918th is the fictitious bombardment group in the TV series Twelve o'clock High. (and probably the movie as well)
> 
> Garth Broughton is the 3rd black airman often seen in background shots and in the barracks. Various sources and wikis give this name as a possibility. (from mail calls, etc.) although it can't be verified. Roy Goldman has had several lines and is frequently seen. That is the actor's name, and when he was on MASH, he used his real name as the name of the character. I don't know if his name was ever mentioned in HH. But a lot of us have used Goldman in stories.
> 
> *Walde Oberst Ernst was the head of the Luftwaffe's pow organization. He had full responsibility for staffing and administration. So far, after all these years, I have been unable to find definitive information as to how men were assigned to what camps. Rotation, space, where they were captured?
> 
> Untermenschen is the term the Nazis used to indicate someone racially or socially inferior. Literally undesirable or underperson.


	30. The Calm Before the Storm

What's in a Name

Chapter 30

The Calm Before the Storm

"For you the war is over."

The words stung. For some of the men, their time at Oberusal provided an opportunity to come to grips with their situation. But for most of the 40 men standing behind the colonel, their experience after being shot-down left them in shock. Immediately after their capture, they were transported to a central holding location, a fenced off area with no shelter, and little food and water. Eventually, a group was herded onto three trucks and driven west. After a miserable drive, they formed a convoy and headed for Hamelburg. Now all of these men realized that they were in jail, a decidedly uncomfortable feeling for men who were not criminals.

The words hit Colonel Hogan hard. His surprise at turning up at Luft Stalag 13-his confidence in his manipulation skills had now skyrocketed-was tempered with this new reality. If he escaped, he would not be sent back to his original command. More than likely, he would be transferred to the Pacific Theater. He noticed the curious prisoners taking a look at the new arrivals. He was again responsible for a large group of men. Hogan took a deep breath. His pride intact, he looked the Kommandant in the eye.

For a brief moment, Klink felt uncomfortable and he shifted his gaze towards the men standing behind the American officer. He noted with interest that three colored men were standing directly behind the colonel. They were of no interest to him. Unlike many in the ranks, he disagreed with the regime's racist policies. Of course, he kept these thoughts to himself, for if his feelings were made public, his career and his life would be in danger. What was Colonel Hogan's position on American race relations? It did not matter. Klink would not tolerate any discourse that jeopardized the smooth running of his camp. He would make that clear to the new Senior POW officer.

He took a deep breath, straightened his posture, reminded himself who was boss, and resumed his original position. The preparations for accommodating these new prisoners were complete. His staff, along with Maddock's men, would see to the necessary paperwork and orientation. After they were all settled, he would give his usual introductory speech.

"Schultz. Start the processing." The sergeant acknowledged the order, and then began herding the large group of American fliers over to the tables set up by the mess hall.

Hogan followed the herd.

"Colonel Hogan, you will come with me," Klink ordered.

Hogan turned and accompanied Klink over to the small building that housed the Kommandant's office. On his way over, he noticed the huts were not raised, and that the office was not isolated. Who was he dealing with? Although the German officer's appearance and bearing were somewhat amusing, Hogan knew he had to be cautious.

Klink thought the same. He admitted he was intrigued by the younger officer's demeanor. In fact, it was the confidence in the American's eyes that initially threw Klink off. He would be cautious in his handling of his new star prisoner. But the Kommandant was ready. After all, he had a full day to prepare for this moment.

24 hours earlier:

The day started out as an ordinary day. Klink left early to attend a meeting in town, while Helga fielded calls, opened mail, and caught up on her filing. It was mid-morning when Kommandant Klink returned. He thought his visit with town leaders went well, the food was decent and the female server was most attentive. He left his staff car by the Kommandanteur and strode into the office.

"I'm back, Helga. Any messages..." Klink stopped as he noticed the look on his secretary's face. "Something wrong?" He then followed Helga's gaze. She pointed to the three large crates on the floor by the filing cabinet, and let out a small whimper.

"What are those?" Klink asked. Large deliveries were normally handled in another area of camp.

Helga gave him a look, and then let out a sigh of frustration. She walked over to the crates and lifted one of the tops. "The delivery person said these were marked urgent and had to come right to the office. They wouldn't listen."

Klink walked over and peered into the box. He looked up. "All these crates?"

Helga nodded.

"Supposed to go to the other...?"

Helga nodded again.

"Helga, what are we going to do with 20,000 tongue depressors?"

Helga was about to suggest giving them to the prisoners-perhaps they could use them for crafts-when the phone rang. "Kommandant Klink's office. Yes, sir. He is right here." Her eyes opened wide. She put her hand over the receiver. "It is the transit camp at the interrogation center." This was unusual. Normally prisoners and their paperwork just showed up with little or no warning.

"I'll take it in my office."

Klink settled in behind his desk, and then picked up the phone. "Hello, this is Kommandant Klink. Delighted to speak to you." He listened for a few moments to the person on the other end.

"You what?

We certainly do have the room.

How many?

All at once?" Klink almost dropped the phone.

"No, we will take them. It is an honor. Thank you for considering...

A what? Excuse me, can you please repeat that?" This time, Klink lost his monocle. "No, I don't need you to spell it. I speak perfect English." He grabbed a memo paid, and jotted something down.

"Yes, I suppose I should notify General Burkhalter when he returns. He comes and goes, you see. Never lets me know his schedule, and you think he would; half the time, I never know when he will show up. Yes, I understand that is not your concern. Wait, I do have one question. Can you use tongue depressors?"

Helga was considering how the Underground could make use of a large shipment of tongue depressors when Klink came barreling out of his office. He was clearly in a tizzy; yes, that is how she would describe it. She jumped up, ready to do whatever necessary to calm him down. "Kommandant?"

He ignored her, opened the door, and spoke to the sentry. "Have Sergeant Maddock brought over here at once. And Sergeant Schultz as well." He then closed the door. "Helga, that was the transit center," he needlessly stated, forgetting she had taken the original call. "We are getting a large group of prisoners all at once. Forty Americans. Tomorrow."

"Oh, my." The tongue depressors were now forgotten. This new development was a big deal, as normally prisoners arrived in small groups. Helga knew she would be busy, as the processing could take hours. "Do you need me to stay over, Kommandant? It is not a problem." Helga kept a change of clothes in the closet in case of emergencies.

"Yes, of course, if it is necessary. There's more." Klink was pacing back and forth. "Where is Schultz?" He opened the door and then closed it again. "We are getting an officer."

Helga's face fell. "That means Sergeant Maddock will no longer be the prisoners' spokesman." She had to let the Underground know as soon as possible. Would this officer be someone they could trust? Would he want to use the tunnels for his own purposes and escape? Unless the Allies were crossing over the border, change in this business was not always beneficial. Life was too stressful.

"Yes, that is true. And, I've been informed this officer is a colonel." Klink puffed up and stood a bit straighter. "Our Stalag has achieved real recognition, Helga. Otherwise, why would they send this colonel here?"

Good question. "I don't know, Kommandant, but perhaps you are correct. You should be recognized," Helga said, soothing Klink's ego as she had many times before.

HhHhH

"Why would they send a colonel here?" asked Foster.

Maddock, most of his hut mates, his assistant, Sergeant Graves, the three American prisoners, and a few other men were crammed together in the common room of Barracks 2. As soon as his meeting with Klink and Schultz concluded, Maddock rushed back to the hut. First, he had to assemble a work party to get several empty barracks ready for the newcomers. Then, after asking all of his top personnel to come to the barracks, he gave everyone the news.

"Good question." Maddock was so flustered; he began pacing around the room. For once he no pencils in his hand to snap or play with to settle his nerves. "It could be a trick, or it could be perfectly innocent. Klink seemed to think Berlin was recognizing his wonderful management skills by rewarding him with a high-ranking officer."

"Do we know who he is?" Newkirk asked.

"Yes. Klink would not tell me, but Helga slipped me his name. "Colonel Robert Hogan. He's an American, like all the others. That's all we know. Sound familiar?"

While the three Americans were consulting with one another in a corner, a British sergeant spoke first. "The name does sound familiar. I think it was back in '40. We were at a pub, and the Eagle Squadron came up in conversation. I'm not one hundred percent sure, but it could be him."

The three Americans could not place the name. As Foster explained, they had not been in Britain very long, and there were many colonels in the air corps.

"Well. I guess that's it then." Maddock walked over to the stove and poured himself a cup of coffee. "We'll send a message to the Underground and let them know a colonel is coming. Hopefully, they can get him vetted. And there are the other men to check out as well." He stopped. "LeBeau, do you think you can bribe Schultz for information? Maybe he knows something else."

"Of course. I have some apples. Give me a few hours, and I can make something."

"Good." Maddock took a sip and made a face. "Either this pot needs cleaning or the coffee is getting worse."

"I keep trying to tweak the coffee." LeBeau looked insulted. "But making a good brew in these conditions is impossible. I will steal another pot from the kitchen. That might help. Besides, we can always use an extra pot. How do we know this colonel won't ask for a transfer to an officer's camp?"

"Klink won't allow it. He is too head over heels in love with the idea of having another colonel in camp. I bet he's already bragging about it to his cronies in the other stalags. Unless this colonel can get sympathy from Burkhalter, he's not going anywhere anytime soon."

The meeting broke up, and everyone scattered. There was a lot of work to be done in the next twenty-four hours. Maddock retreated to his office, and sighed. He was conflicted about this new turn of events. While he was proud of his work, the constant stress was a burden. He could confide in his friends, and they were supportive, but perhaps an officer taking charge of the camp and their clandestine operations would not be the worst thing in the world. His biggest worry right now was Colonel Hogan's personality and whether he could be trusted. Some officers were difficult and only thought about themselves. "Well," he said to himself. "No need to worry about that yet. Hopefully, he will work out." Maddock decided it would be awkward if he remained in the barracks, even if he moved to the common room. So he picked up a box, and began to pack.

HhHhH

Schultz stopped to catch his breath as he supervised preparations throughout the camp. He was ultimately responsible for smoothly transitioning the incoming men from new prisoners into permanent residents. Since Klink transferred the small group of staff officers under him when they failed to respond to an attempted escape, Schultz and Corporal Langenscheidt's workload had increased. Langenscheidt was young, smart, and up to the task. The prisoners also liked him. Schultz knew all this, and he kept the young translator under his wing. The Sergeant of the Guard, however, was no longer young, preferred to remain quiet about some odd goings on in the camp, and was not in the best of health. After inspecting the delousing area, a whiff of something special caught his attention. His body followed his nose, and he almost ran over the small French corporal who lived in Barracks 2.

"What is that smell, Cockroach?"

LeBeau, ignoring the usual insult, artfully swung his arms around to the front of his body, and gracefully removed the lid off the plate he was holding.

"Your favorite."

"Apple strudel?" Schultz asked hopefully.

"No, it's potato pancakes." LeBeau shook his head. "Of course it's apple strudel."

"Ooohhh. I could use a break." Schultz reached for the plate, but LeBeau quickly held it back.

"Langenscheidt gets some. He's been working as hard as you," LeBeau said.

"Yes, of course. He is working hard. He's helping Helga organize the paperwork and forms while I supervise the prisoners working on the barracks."

LeBeau grinned knowingly. The German corporal was smitten with the secretary. Who could blame him? But, the corporal was also better suited to filing and sorting, while Schultz was better at barking orders at prisoners, not that they listened half the time. "So, Schultz. I hear we are getting a new officer." He handed him the plate and followed him over to the office.

"Yes." Schultz took another whiff and sighed. "It smells so good. A colonel. Too bad for Sergeant Maddock. He is a good spokesman."

"Well, he is not going anywhere. Just across to Barracks 8." LeBeau followed Schultz up the steps, and inside. Langenscheidt and Helga looked up from their work as Schultz and LeBeau walked in. Schultz, not paying any attention to LeBeau's presence, placed the plate on Helga's desk. Both Langenscheidt and Helga took a sniff.

"That smells delicious." Helga winked at LeBeau.

"What are in those crates?" he asked.

"Tongue depressors," answered Langenscheidt. "Another mix-up. I have no clue what we will do with them."

"Tongue depressors?" LeBeau began to laugh. Seeing Schultz's glare, he quickly stopped. "Give some strudel to the fraulein as well." LeBeau perched himself on the edge of Helga's desk. He glanced at the stack of forms, but they were of no interest, as they were all blank. "Where's the Kommandant?"

"He went to the recruiting center in town to requisition some more guards." Helga stated. "He thought that if he showed up in person, they would not turn him down. The poor man has been busy straightening his office and making phone calls. Although, he would much rather do that than deal with paperwork. I will get some plates and a knife. There are some in his office." Helga rose from her chair and headed to the door.

LeBeau quickly hopped off the desk. "Let me help you."

"LeBeau. What are you doing?" Schultz blocked the path. "I will get them. You stay here."

"Have Corporal Langenscheidt help you, Sergeant. They may be on the bottom shelf of the credenza." Helga smiled at both of the men. As soon as the two guards entered Klink's office, Helga whispered to LeBeau. "I found out what bomber group he commanded. That's all." She slipped him a piece of paper, which LeBeau quickly pocketed.

"Enjoy the strudel." LeBeau quickly kissed Helga's hand and left the office.

HhHhH

At first Klink's visit to the recruiting center was unsuccessful; every available man was being sent to the Russian Front. All the staff could do was promise to send along any man who failed the physical, an unlikely prospect. But, a threat to call General Burkhalter worked wonders, and Klink was promised two extra guards. As Klink left the building, he spied Oskar Schnitzer's van parked nearby. The Kommandant decided to inform the dog handler that 40 new prisoners were expected to arrive the next day. Klink told himself this could affect Schnitzer's services. Besides, although he had informed several colleagues, why not bring a leading town citizen up-to-date.

Schnitzer, of course, was dutifully impressed by Klink's news. He even shook the Kommandant's hand, a gesture that shocked Klink. Thinking back, the Kommandant had never seen the dog handler in a jovial mood. This time, the two had a small cordial conversation with Schnitzer showing interest in the colonel soon to arrive in camp. By the time the veterinarian drove off, Klink's ego was suitably fed, and he returned to camp satisfied with the results of his trip back into town.

Schnitzer's ego was suitably fed with the knowledge that the Kommandant was an idiot. In just a few minutes he managed to get Klink to divulge that two new guards were being assigned to the camp, that the 40 new prisoners were all American, and that, indeed, one of these prisoners was a colonel and a commander of a bomber group. The Kommandant also revealed the name of the officer. Would this colonel be a friend to the resistance, or just out for himself? That was a question no one could answer until an appropriate amount of time passed. What Schnitzer did know was that for some reason karma had been good to Klink. A camp built for escapes had no successful escapes. A small complex near an inconsequential town attracted more prisoners and a high-ranking American officer. What next? Schnitzer wondered. He thought Klink's behavior was positively creepy. The Kommandant was almost glowing with happiness over this new turn of events. Yes, what next?

HhHhH

"What next?" Burkhalter was clearly not happy, and the Kommandant was the recipient of the general's wrath. Technically, for once, this crisis was not Klink's fault.

"General, I was not the person who assigned Colonel Hogan here." Klink stepped back in fear. "I'm so glad you got my message and that you were not far away."

The general was standing with his hands placed on the edge of Klink's desk. He leaned in further.

Klink reached over and opened his humidor. "Would you care for a cigar?"

"Stop trying to placate me," the general snarled. "And no, I do not want a cigar!" He slammed the lid of the humidor down on Klink's fingers. "Sit down."

Klink held back a whimper, and then collapsed in his chair. "I thought you would be pleased to have a colonel in your jurisdiction. Haven't most of them been sent to another area?"

"That is where he was originally assigned. Far away from the border. The fools. He speaks German fluently. I was warned he could be trouble. Sending him somewhere else will reflect poorly on me. Berlin will think I do not have confidence in my camps and camp management."

"General, I assure you he will not cause any trouble. Remember, over two years and there have been no successful..."

"Escapes from Stalag 13. I know. You sound like a broken record. Don't forget, we are still using this camp as a testing ground, and dignitaries are still visiting." Burkhalter stopped for a moment. "He will be the only officer here, responsible for all the enlisted men."

"That is correct, General."

"Perhaps I can use this to my advantage." Burkhalter opened the door to the outer office, which was empty. All work had been completed, Helga was able to go home, and all the sentries were outside. He closed the door and walked back towards the desk. "The rest of the prisoners can be used as leverage."

Klink nodded. "Yes."

"And, I may be able to get more tests and scientists sent to this camp if this colonel is here. They will be curious and interested in speaking with this man. This will only decrease his morale and the morale of the other prisoners. Who knows, Klink? After a while, perhaps we can get some information out of him."

Klink's relief was obvious. "General, you are brilliant!"

"Stop fawning! Once all these new prisoners are settled, I will be back for an inspection. I forgot to mention, I am awaiting another report from Berlin regarding the numbering situation. I will be frank. I know you have been trying to fix this. I don't understand what the holdup is with that." Burkhalter checked his watch. "I am leaving. Do not mess things up with this colonel."

"Or, I'll be on the next train east," Klink muttered to himself as he watched the general leave. Seriously, he thought. What could possibly go wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost done! (I hope). I appreciate everyone's support. Thank you Sgt. Hakeswill for your input. The tongue depressors? Seems the same supply sergeant who screwed up the delivery ended up working for the Allies, and also sent a large shipment to a certain MASH unit in the Korean War.


	31. First Impressions

What's in a name

Chapter 31

First Impressions

Almost done! Thanks for all of your support, patience, reviews and suggestions.

A long chapter! Trying to get this out quickly before I go on vacation later this week. Please let me know if there are any issues, typos etc, I may have missed. Thanks!

Helga watched from an open window in Klink's office as the Kommandant spoke to the new prisoners. As the two colonels approached the office, Helga pulled the window shut, but did not latch it, leaving an open gap of several inches. She then returned to her desk.

She stood up as they walked in.

The Kommandant stopped and introduced her to the new Senior POW officer.

"This is my secretary, Fraulein Helga. Colonel Hogan, we will go over protocol in my office.

Hogan removed his cap. "Fraulein." Wondering why Klink had a civilian female as secretary, Hogan quickly noticed she was young, very pretty, and could be a poster child for Nazi womanhood. He guessed she was in her mid to late 20's; a prime target for Nazi propaganda in her teen years. What a waste, he thought.

"Nice to meet you, Colonel Hogan." As Helga gave the officer a quick smile and a small curtsy, she became mesmerized by the pilot's eyes, which displayed both intelligence and humor. Despite looking a bit malnourished and his obvious exhaustion, Colonel Hogan was extremely handsome. Oh, you must be very popular with women, she found herself thinking as her breath quickened. Now a bit flustered, she asked the Kommandant if he needed anything.

"Yes. Bring in some tea and biscuits. I'm sure the colonel could use some refreshment." Klink was not ready to interrogate the American yet, and he did not need Helga to transcribe any sessions.

Hogan was about to refuse the refreshments, as he did not want any special treatment, but Klink was too fast. The Kommandant was already opening the door to his office, and motioning for Hogan to follow.

"Please take a seat." Klink scurried around to his side of the desk and pulled out his chair. He took his seat and leaned forward. "Would you like a cigar or cigarette, Colonel?"

Hogan was not a smoker, although he was tempted to try one of the Kommandant's cigars. "No."

He became interested in the Kommandant's desk. Alongside a humidor, sat a Pickelhaube. Intriguing. It had to be Klink's from the first war. Hogan guessed the officer, who appeared trim and fit, was in his late 40's. The only blemishes were his balding head, and that ridiculous monocle. He stared past Klink and glanced at the map of the camp that hung on the wall behind the desk. From his short time in the compound, he realized many of the buildings depicted on the map had not been built. Another map, which depicted the continent and parts of Africa, hung next to the other one.

Klink noticed Hogan looking at the wall. "That is indeed a map of the prison camp. It was originally a recreation camp, and became a prison early in the war," Klink said proudly. "Make no mistake, Colonel. Despite our size, Berlin considers us the toughest prison camp in all of Germany. As you probably noticed, we have two lines of fencing, and multiple watchtowers. The dogs are vicious, and the guards will shoot. We have had no successful escapes. In fact, last fall, we foiled a mass escape. I expect my perfect record to continue." Klink clasped his hands and leaned back in his chair.

Klink obviously brought up the foiled mass escape to warn the colonel. Your perfect record will be broken, vowed Hogan. He mimicked the Kommandant, and leaned back in his chair as well.

There was a knock at the door, and Helga entered with a tray.

Hogan waved her away. "I won't have anything my men do not have," he said as she placed it on the desk. She gave him another smile, and then looked at the window. Hogan followed her gaze. Was that a man out there? Yes, he was sure of it. A very short man, eavesdropping. Hogan saw him duck down below the sill.

"Kommandant, it is quite warm in here. Shall I open the window further?" The secretary asked.

Hogan fiddled with his collar. "Sir," he said politely. "May I take my jacket off? It is warm."

He is nervous. Good. Klink nodded. "Yes, if it will make you more comfortable."

Helga adjusted the window. "Will there be anything else?"

"No, thank you." Klink dismissed her.

Hogan knew she had to have seen the prisoner outside the window. He turned and watched her leave. She gave him one more smile as she left the office. Turning back, he could just see the top of the prisoner's head. What is going on? He straightened in his chair. Let's get on with it.

"I have some forms for you to fill out," Klink said. Hogan's file was already on his desk; Schultz had seen to that. "You are not obligated to partake of the tea and biscuits, but as an officer, you must understand…" His voice lowered, Klink addressed Hogan as a co-conspirator, "that you do have special privileges."

Hogan's eyes narrowed. He certainly understood, and he would accept some privileges, but eating Klink's food when his men ate gruel was not one of them. "I'll pass." He looked at the first form. Taking the pencil from the desktop, Hogan filled out only what was necessary. All Allied fliers were briefed on what to reveal if captured. Most of the questions went unanswered, and he was confident all the other new prisoners would do the same.

Klink looked at the form, and he was not at all shocked to see that Hogan left most of the questions blank. He expected Hogan would eagerly take the refreshments, but he admired the American's resolve. Enough of that. "So, Colonel Hogan, I understand you speak fluent German."

Let the dance begin. Hogan leaned back in his chair and let out a small smile. "Hogan, Robert E, Colonel. 08…"

"Oh, stop. This is not an interrogation. Just a conversation. Officer to Officer. Colonel to Colonel. You sure you don't want a biscuit?" Klink passed the plate over.

Hogan slid the plate back. "Let's cut to the chase, Kommandant." Out of the corner of his eye, Hogan could still see the black hair on the head of the eavesdropper outside the window. "I want to get to my billet, and check on the men that came in with me. If there is nothing else?"

Klink let out a little pout, which Hogan noticed. "You are billeted in Barracks 2. I will have Sergeant Schultz escort you over, and the men or Sergeant Maddock will…" Klink pursed his lips, and thought for a moment. "The men will show you the…the… ropes." He smiled at his own brilliance with the English language.

Hogan decided to soothe the Kommandant's ego. "Very good, sir. Your English is top-notch."

"Thank you. I come from a long line of multi-lingual officers. I am a sponge when it comes to foreign languages. It's in the blood." Klink picked up the phone. "Have Sergeant Schultz report here." He hung up the receiver. "He'll be here shortly, I hope." Lately, Klink wondered if he should request additional officers. He now regretted transferring his staff. Schultz was in charge in Klink's absence and for some reason, the sergeant no longer instilled confidence.

There was an awkward silence as the two men waited for Schultz to arrive, and they continued to size each other up. Finally, Hogan spoke first. He could not quite believe what he blurted out. Was it to gauge Klink's reaction, or was it one-upmanship? After all, they knew of his German skills. Why not return the favor.

"I do have one question, Kommandant." The prisoner was still outside the window. Where were the guards? Why wasn't he exposed? "Is this really Luft Stalag 13 or should it be Luft Stalag 6? Must be quite a bit of confusion, considering there are two camp thirteen's and two Hammelburgs. Of course, I know they are spelled differently, but that must not help matters."

Hogan was going to mention the reputation for German efficiency, but clammed up as he saw Klink's reaction. The Kommandant was clearly shocked speechless. Hogan immediately regretted spilling the secret. It was stupid to let the enemy know what you knew, even if the information was inconsequential, and Hogan thought this was. He mentally chastised himself. Well, he wasn't perfect. He was exhausted and hungry, and not surprisingly, feeling quite vindictive.

Klink's face relaxed. Obviously, the Allies must have mapped the POW camps. They needed to avoid bombing them, after all. Moreover, if they mapped them, they would certainly question the military districts and the numbering system. German natives who fled the Nazis worked for the Allies, and they would know there were two Hammelburgs. It was inevitable. But it had no bearing on the war effort or the prisoners, so why not confide in Hogan. Klink believed in attracting flies with honey, so why not start now.

"Colonel. You are correct. There was an error." Klink wagged his finger. "And our efficiency is top-notch, and the man who made this error has been severely punished. But, if you knew what we have gone through." He laughed. "Just this week, we received a large shipment of tongue depressors meant for the other camp. Imagine!"

"Tongue depressors?" Hogan tilted his head in confusion.

"Actually, the mistake has benefited us. One of our best staff members came here by mistake and we kept him. Corporal Langenscheidt. He also acts as our senior translator. You will meet him." He decided not to mention the French food and swimsuit. Klink wondered if it was still in Helga's desk drawer.

"That's nice." Where is that sergeant? Hogan wanted out as fast as possible. He felt like he was falling down a rabbit hole and his name was Alice.

Klink continued to prattle on about the misnaming fiasco, until finally, Hogan was saved from boredom by the entrance of the portly Sergeant of the Guard.

"I am here, Kommandant." The guard was out-of-breath. Hogan saw the eavesdropper leave, and he noticed the man was carrying a large sack and a stick with a point on the end. Across the compound, the prisoner picked up some loose papers and placed them in the sack.

"Finally," Klink said, exasperated. "Escort the colonel to his barracks, and have Sergeant Maddock officially turn over his duties to Colonel Hogan."

"Right away, Kommandant," Schultz said crisply. He turned to Hogan, who was now standing, cap and jacket in hand. "If you please, Colonel."

Upon entering the outer office, Hogan stopped. "Fraulein," he said politely.

"Colonel Hogan, I hope your stay with us is not too unpleasant."

Helga leaned forward, awakening an urge in Hogan that had been missing since he was shot down. He chastised himself. The secretary was quite a bit younger, she was probably spoken for, and despite her machinations in the office, it was still too early to trust her. He made a mental note to ask the MOC about her.

He let out a smile. "I appreciate that. But I'd rather be elsewhere."

"Wouldn't we all," she replied in perfect English.

To Hogan's surprise, the secretary's statement did not faze his escort. In fact, he thought he could hear the sergeant mumble in agreement. He took a quick look around the office. A filing cabinet stood next to the Kommandant's closed door. A pile of crates sat on the floor next to the filing cabinet.

"Tongue depressors?" Hogan asked.

"Oh, yes." Helga left her chair and walked over. "Would you like some?" She pushed aside the lid of the top crate. Hogan peered in. Sure enough, the crate held what looked to be thousands of the little pieces of wood.

Hogan scratched his head. "I have no idea what I would do with them. Sergeant?"

"Call me Schultz." The big man peered inside the crate as well. "Perhaps we can build houses, and model planes, or ships. Maybe we can float the ships in a puddle. Ah. That would be nice." He looked up at the colonel, as if he were a puppy asking for approval.

Hogan donned his cap, and then his jacket. "Maybe take them to recreation hall," he whispered. "We do have one?"

"Yes. I meant to have them taken over there. We have been distracted," Schultz answered. "So many prisoners coming in at once, and then…you. Oh, you should have seen the Kommandant, yesterday. He was in such a state."

Helga let out a small giggle.

"I think I should get going." Not waiting for Schultz, Hogan headed for the door. Now he definitely felt like Alice, and he wondered what could possible happen next.

Schultz scurried after the colonel, and caught up with the officer on the steps. The sentry outside came to attention, and saluted Hogan, a gesture the colonel appreciated. As he walked down the steps and across the compound, prisoners stopped what they were doing and stared. Hogan could see the lines of men in processing; the five he had an interest in were at the back of one of the lines.

Men in the compound came to attention as he passed. Good, he thought. Looks like we have some discipline. The German sergeant kept up a running commentary as the two headed towards the barracks. He pointed out the mess, the infirmary, and the recreation hall. He explained a bit about the shower schedule, the roll calls, and what to do in case of an air raid. The camp was small, and it did not take long for the two men to reach Barracks 2.

"Sergeant Maddock should be in there waiting for you," Schultz said. "He's a nice boy," he added helpfully.

"Thanks, Schultz." Hogan reached for the door.

"Nein. I will open it," Schultz said with a flourish. He opened the door. "Achtung! Attention! This is Colonel Hogan. Your new Senior POW officer."

As Hogan walked through the door, several men in the hut hopped off their bunks. Those seated at the table scrambled to their feet. All the men stood at attention. Hogan recognized the eavesdropper, a French corporal, standing by the stove, a ladle in his hand. Schultz discreetly left, shutting the door behind him

"At ease." Hogan quickly counted how many were in the assembly. There were fourteen men and fourteen bunks in the room. The hut was spartan. A stove and a small table sat in the middle of the common room; a sink was by the wall. Laundry strung over a rope hung over the bunks. The walls appeared thin, and he thought he could see several holes in both the walls and the ceiling. There was a bucket placed beside the far wall; it was probably there to catch leaks. The usual photographs of family members and Hollywood pinups adorned the walls. A footlocker, a vase with flowers perched on the lid, sat on the floor in the middle of the room. Odd. He smiled inwardly. I may have discovered the beginnings of the real rabbit hole. That would wait until later.

A British sergeant stepped forward and saluted. "Sergeant Maddock, sir. I'm the MOC. Your bags are already in your quarters, which doubles as an office."

"Thank you. Come with me, Sergeant." Hogan and Maddock went into the office, Hogan asking the MOC to close the door.

The men in the common room relaxed and started talking.

"Blimey. I don't know about an officer taking charge." Newkirk walked over to the rope and began taking down the laundry. He threw some of the dry clothes over to another prisoner. "We've managed well enough on our own. What about your first impression, Louis?"

The corporal had only just returned to the hut moments before Hogan's arrival, and he had not had a chance to report on what he heard while eavesdropping. "There is nothing wrong with his observation skills." LeBeau dipped the ladle in the pot and pulled out a bit of the liquid. He tasted it and made a face. "Who forgot to stir while I was gone? Oh, never mind; it will be all right." LeBeau threw in a few spices and gave the pot a stir. "Where was I? Oh, yes. He noticed that I was out there, and either he was nervous, or he pretended to be hot so Klink would let Helga open the window a bit more. I think he pretended."

"Why would you say that?" asked Koufax, another British flyer.

"Because my paranoid friend, Colonel Hogan refused to eat Klink's version of a tea service, unless the rest of the prisoners ate the same. He began giving his name, rank and serial number, and he shut Klink up."

This gained the interest of the entire barracks.

"How?" Newkirk asked.

"The colonel knows about the naming mistake. I actually think he has a sense of humor." LeBeau stirred the pot again. Taking another sip from his ladle, he sighed. "Much better. I think we should give him the benefit of the doubt, as you say. We already know he is who he says he is. The Underground confirmed that." The Underground, one of several groups trying to get solid information on the new arrival, did indeed confirm that the Luftwaffe shot down a group leader from the 504th. They passed this information on to the radio operator under the tunnels late that morning. "Ah, one more thing. He speaks fluent German."

"Well, isn't that a fact?" Newkirk was a naturally suspicious person, and it often took a while for a new acquaintance to gain his trust, especially the new person was a member of the upper class, or an officer. "Well, he'll probably want to get out of here." Despite the debacle of the previous fall, and the additional work of rescuing Allied fliers, another escape was not off the table. Plans were just delayed until further notice. "We'll just have to wait and see."

HhHhH

After Maddock shut the door behind him, Hogan took a quick look at his new home. A window and filing cabinet was at the far wall. Next to the window and adjacent to another wall was a bunk bed. To the left of the door was a rickety looking locker. A table and chair sat in the middle of the room.

"It's not much, sir, but it's home. Oh, and you'll find the top bunk to be more comfortable."

There were no personal effects in sight, and Hogan realized the MOC had moved out. Protocol was in effect, even in a prisoner-of-war camp. The colonel felt bad about Maddock's demotion and change of residence, but the army was the army, and while he did not plan to remain at Stalag 13 any longer than necessary, keeping order and discipline, even in this dire situation, was crucial.

As if Maddock could read the colonel's mind, he said, "I've moved on, sir. Over to Barracks 8. Didn't want to put any of the men out. Besides, Graves is over there, and he has been my clerical assistant since I assumed the post. We even put out a camp newsletter from that location. The Stalag 13 Gazette. Klink is nice enough to print it for us."

"That's a decent gesture," Hogan replied. He walked over to his bag. Every man who left the transit camp received some supplies from the Red Cross.

"Would you like help unpacking, Colonel?" Maddock asked. "We don't have any extra American uniforms in stores. Klink is contacting the Red Cross to see if we can get some sent over. We only got our first batch of Yanks in not that long ago."

"That's not necessary." Hogan yawned. "What is in the file cabinet? Sit down, Maddock." Hogan sat on the edge of the bottom bunk, while Maddock pulled over a chair.

"A file on every man in camp, plus work rotations, and incident reports. Thankfully, we don't have too many of them. The medical information is in the infirmary. Klink has tried to requisition a doctor, but they're in short supply. And we're small."

"Too bad. We certainly have enough tongue depressors to open up a hospital."

Maddock chuckled. "Good one, sir." He noticed Hogan let out a small grin. "There is a British medical staff at Stalag 5, but in an emergency, Klink will let us go to town to see a dentist or even to the hospital. We've had a couple of broken limbs, and one case of appendicitis. The Germans took care of it. Several blokes have advanced aid training, and we have a medic that got swept up at Dunkirk."

"Who assigns barrack postings?" Hogan wanted the three colored sergeants, Olsen, and Goldman transferred to his barracks as soon as possible. Fortunately, the guards in the back of the truck allowed quiet conversation, although one made it clear that he spoke English and there would be no talk of taking over the truck or trying to escape. During the trip, the men got to know one another quite well and he developed a rapport with those five. Hogan was particularly impressed with Kinchloe, and wanted to utilize his talents by appointing him as a member of his staff.

While Maddock's knowledge and skills would also be helpful during the transition, it was not unheard of for new C.O's to replace staff members with new men. Hogan was sure the MOC would not want to move back to this hut and Hogan was reluctant to order it; he would still need a steady and intelligent man at his side. As to the other colored sergeants, until he was sure the rest of the prisoners were tolerant, Hogan thought keeping them together might be the best thing for now. He was sure they would argue, but their safety was his responsibility.

Goldman, a confident young Jewish man from Philadelphia, was close to Olsen. The way Maddock spoke of Klink, Hogan did not think the Kommandant would ostracize or abuse Goldman, but he was concerned, especially if other German officers came into camp. He witnessed anti-Semitism cropping up in Allied circles; some bigots going so far as to say the Jews got America or England into the war. He was friendly with a British colonel who witnessed a horrible display in the East End in 1936, when the British Union of Fascists marched through the heavily Jewish district.

Olsen? He was an enigma. The sergeant was chatty at the beginning of the trip to the camp; then became lost in his own thoughts. Hogan's instinct told him there was more to the young man besides his intelligence work, and he would prove to be a valuable asset; if he did not prove to be a discipline problem and end up being demoted or shot. He needed to be kept on a short leash.

Maddock attempted to answer Hogan's question. "Initially, the office. But for such a large group, they'll just go into the newly opened barracks. Schultz approves any changes. We've done it more than once. The records just have to be updated. The barrack guards are notified, and Helga updates the files. Klink usually doesn't concern himself with mundane matters."

Hogan filed that information away for later and decided to wait a few days before moving prisoners around. He did not want to upset the apple cart just yet. It was not going to be an easy transition, and from what he had seen from Maddock so far, the prisoners were bound to be upset with the changes. His group of five men would have to wait until then.

Maddock could see Hogan was tiring. "Sir, it's been a long day. Perhaps you need some rest? I can go and check on the rest of the men for you."

Hogan nodded in agreement. "You're right. But first, I need to meet the other men in the hut." He stood up and stretched.

"Very good, sir." Maddock stood up as well. "Permission to speak freely, Colonel?"

"Of course," Hogan replied.

"I've been the MOC for quite some time. First, the camp was mainly Polish, but they're gone. I was just a regular sergeant, but for some reason, the men elected me to be their spokesman. Most of us have been here a long time as well. We've had some difficulties, but we've managed to all get along. We've got a lot of nationalities here, and some of the barracks are mixed."

"Interesting."

"Klink knows the Geneva Convention rules. There is a pamphlet in the file cabinet, by the way. But he is flexible, as I said. Well, what I mean to say is, you're our first officer, and I'm fine with handing over the reins." Now that Maddock said it, in a roundabout way of course, he felt better. What was interesting, he realized, is that he didn't hesitate in telling this colonel the truth, for his gut told him this man was trustworthy. Having the more stringent discipline, Maddock figured, would not hurt the men imprisoned here. With a colonel now in charge, it was to be expected. They would all make do.

Hogan was surprised to hear Maddock admit his fatigue in commanding this group of men. He was not shocked that the MOC was tired, and perhaps stressed, but he was immediately aware and also grateful that Maddock felt comfortable confiding in him. Being afraid, tired, or stressed during wartime was common. What Hogan wanted from those under him was honesty. Once you were honest with your emotions, he believed, help was available. He also believed that something more was going on here, and he was confident he would find out in good time.

"I appreciate your honesty, Sergeant." Hogan gave Maddock a reassuring smile. "One question before we go out there. First impressions are sometimes not accurate. Am I correct that Klink's secretary is perhaps a bit sympathetic to the prisoners?"

"I wouldn't know, sir." Maddock coughed.

Fair enough. There is something going here. "Never mind." Hogan, followed by Maddock, entered the common room. "At ease," he again said in a tired voice.

The French corporal hurried over and offered the colonel a mug. "It's fresh coffee, colonel. May not be what you are used to, but it's hot and wet."

"Thank you, corporal…"

On the other side of the barracks, Maddock whispered a few words to Newkirk and then a few other men.

"LeBeau. Are you hungry? Please, sit." He placed a bowl on the table.

Another man pulled out a chair and offered Hogan a seat. Hogan took it gratefully and took a spoonful. "This is actually edible. You made this, LeBeau?"

"Out of Red Cross rations." LeBeau beamed.

After a few words with Maddock, Newkirk felt a bit better about the new officer, although Hogan would still have to prove himself to the Londoner. He strolled over to the table. "Corporal Newkirk, sir. From London. My little buddy Louis is a top chef. Known in Stalag 13 for his culinary magic."

After Hogan finished the entire bowl of food, the rest of the men introduced themselves.

"You've got some time before roll call, sir. I'll go check on the other new men. Regarding paperwork and other details, these blokes can help you out, or you know where to find me. We should probably have a meeting tomorrow."

"Sounds good, Maddock. Thanks for your help." Hogan stood up. "I will admit, I am tired." Hogan was an observant man, and he remembered one small item. He turned his eyes towards the oddly-placed footlocker. Some of the men followed his eyes, and a few nudged themselves over towards the locker. "One question." He walked over to the footlocker and stopped. "Who has a footlocker in the middle of the floor in a hut with little floor space?" No one answered. "What are you all hiding? A hidden radio? A tunnel?" He bent down and removed the vase, as the men stood frozen in fear. They all knew that the colonel would be brought up to speed eventually, but an immediate disclosure was not in their plans, as they wanted to gauge his nature before revealing any secrets. However, it was too late. It appeared the cat was about to come out of the bag.


	32. The End of the Beginning

What's in a Name

Chapter 32

The End of the Beginning

because you all asked for it: More Hogan.

(almost done, I hope)

There was complete silence in the hut as Hogan lifted the lid of the unlocked footlocker. There was nothing unusual stored there; some magazines, winter knits and tins of food took up the space on the shelf. Okay, no radio or tools. Could this just be an innocent piece of furniture? Perhaps an extra low table, Hogan thought. He looked up at the men. There was some shuffling, but no signs of stress on any of their faces. No, his instinct told him this was something more. He narrowed his eyes and was about to move the shelf.

"Oh, what the hell." Maddock walked over to Hogan. "May I, sir?"

Hogan straightened up and nodded. His eyes widened as Maddock lifted off the false bottom. The colonel stared into a dark chasm. He looked up at Maddock.

"After you, sir."

Hogan climbed down the ladder. As he touched the bottom, he instinctively did a 360 degree turn. I was right. I am Alice, and this is Wonderland.

Several minutes later, half the population of the barracks joined Hogan in the tunnel. Several prisoners from other barracks were already working down there; they had entered through the dog pen, and one man was monitoring the radio. Forgetting their discipline, the men from Barracks 2 tried to explain the history of the operation to their new Senior POW officer.

"Okay, one person at a time." Hogan, who ignored his fatigue for the moment, pointed at Maddock. "Start from the beginning, and don't leave anything out."

To everyone's surprise, Hogan listened and did not interrupt. Maddock started with Helga's discovery of the mine, and calmly and completely gave a condensed version of everything that occurred afterwards. He soberly recounted the transfer of the Polish prisoners and explained more about the failed mass escape. Other men gleefully explained how the dog handler trained the dogs to growl at the Germans and ignore the prisoners. LeBeau gave Hogan a run-down of Schultz's culinary tastes, and Glassman added the bit about the tunnel expansion to other barracks and the cooler. The only break came when Hogan laughed at Newkirk's tale of the suspicious scientist and his fixation on the number 13. The officer took everything in, and when Maddock and his men finished talking, Hogan sat back in his chair and rubbed his chin. The men waited patiently for what seemed an eternity. Finally, Hogan spoke.

"Can I get a message through to England to let them know I'm alive?"

"That's already been done, sir. The Underground was able to confirm your identity," Maddock said.

"Newkirk?"

The corporal stepped forward. "Yes, sir?"

"Where did you acquire those skills?" Hogan asked.

"I'd rather not say, for some of them, that is. But, I turned over a new leaf, as they call it, quite some time ago. Put them to good use, I did. I've been an entertainer, and a tailor."

"He's also quite a skilled magician and pickpocket," Glassman added.

Hogan smiled. "Well, well, well." He got up and began walking around the main room of the tunnel. He stopped at the radio. "We just acquired three actual communications specialists. I venture a guess that they can put something together from nothing and build a radio blindfolded; maybe they can get us a real-time connection to London."

"That's fantastic," Maddock said as he followed the colonel around. "We had help from Marceau and a few other men who were radio operators on their planes. The equipment came from the Underground. But most of the radio operators were officers, and didn't end up here." Maddock paused. "I don't think you'll have any racial issues from the other prisoners," he whispered to Hogan. "But, the other Americans?"

"I won't tolerate any bigotry, whatsoever," Hogan answered in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear. "I'll have Klink throw them into the cooler myself. A Jewish man came in with us. Any issues?"

Glassman stepped forward. "No, sir. I'm Jewish. Been here quite a while, and I've never had a problem with any of the Krauts here, or the other prisoners."

Hogan nodded. "Good." I still want those five men moved into my barracks. Hogan couldn't help but feel a bit nervous about the welcome Baker, Broughton and Kinchloe would receive, he wanted to keep an eye on Olsen, and he felt responsible for Goldman. He made a mental note to discuss his wishes with Maddock in a few days.

"This is where we've kept the rescued Allied airmen." Maddock pointed to an area off the main room. "And we've built a nice storage unit." He took Hogan to the area and opened the door to the sealed off room.

Hogan, holding a lantern, walked in. He looked around at the shelves lining the walls. As he began to examine the contents, he could sense the nervousness of the men behind him.

"Explosives and chemicals, Colonel." Maddock pointed but didn't touch. ""The Underground acquired these somehow, and they are storing them here. They want to start playing around with sabotage, but so far, we haven't heard of anything being done," Maddock explained. "There's really only enough for one or two jobs anyway. We also have a few weapons. What we could use is some more training in developing photos. We have some cameras, but not a darkroom. Any photos we take have to be sent to the Underground."

"Photos of plans and weapons." Hogan recalled the story of the misdirected aide to Speer and the camp's role in hosting visiting scientists and officers. He looked forward to meeting Burkhalter and some of these VIPs.

"Yes, sir." Maddock followed Hogan out of the storage area. He saw obvious fatigue on the face of the officer. "If you don't mind me suggesting this, Colonel, I think you need to take a rest."

"You're right. We'll head up. I am beyond impressed with what you have all done. And to think it started with a numbering mistake." Hogan shook his head at the irony. He recalled discussing the mistake at the meeting in England. In fact, at the time, neither he nor anyone else thought it was a big deal. "First thing tomorrow, I want you to arrange a meeting with some of these civilians."

Maddock smiled. "Consider it done, sir."

As the colonel lay on the top bunk in his new office, he pondered what would come next. His first duty was to escape. However, the unique situation and the bravery of the sympathetic civilians and the prisoners prompted him to reconsider. If he did escape, what would happen to the Kommandant? Would losing his prize lead to a transfer for Klink? Moreover, would the new Kommandant be worse? If that were the case, what would happen to Glassman, Goldman, and the colored sergeants?

Klink was humane, but obviously not very bright. Maddock, an untested young sergeant, seemed to be able to manipulate the Kommandant. Hogan was confident he could do the same. His mother often told him he had a silver tongue, and the talent and knack of a successful used-car salesman. He chuckled. His friend Roberts once said that Hogan could sell ice to the Eskimos. Hogan knew he had the skills, so how hard could it be to influence the Germans around him? As he fell asleep, the colonel decided to let fate take its course. He had time; if the opportunity presented itself, he would be the first one across the border, but if he had a chance to make a difference behind the lines, so be it.

A much-relieved Maddock went back to his barracks that evening. He assured everyone that the new officer appeared trustworthy and fair, and he asked that this be spread throughout the camp. He hoped the colonel would stay, but if the opportunity to escape came, of course they would do everything in their power to help the colonel. Meanwhile, the burden of commanding the clandestine operation lifted from the shoulders of the tired and stressed-out sergeant. For the first time in months, he slept soundly through the night.

6 weeks later:

Hogan, dressed in all black and his face darkened with soot, crouched down behind a line of bushes not far from the Hamelburg Road. His companions, LeBeau, Newkirk and Olsen, were beside him. There was late word about a large raid scheduled that evening, and the four hoped to rescue any downed airmen.

Olsen was now an integral part of the main team of operatives. His knowledge of the area was an asset, as was his intelligence training, and he was easily able to blend in with the local population. Unlike Hogan, LeBeau and Newkirk, Olsen's absence would not be missed by Klink. Schultz did notice when Olsen was missing, but the guard could easily be bribed to manipulate the count, or to overlook the man who would occasionally fill in for the sergeant. Hogan came up with the idea to replace Olsen with a rescued flier if a pick-up time was too far in the future. Rather than have the fliers remain too long in an uncomfortable environment, the flier would come up top, and Olsen would take off. This allowed Olsen to run errands outside of camp. He could acquire needed items, and conduct surveillance, if necessary. The sergeant stayed with Oskar while he was outside the wire, and he joked that a career as a veterinary assistant was in his future. Hogan's concern about Olsen's behavior was unfounded. Under Hogan's guidance, the sergeant, while exuberant, proved to be trustworthy and consistent.

The Luftwaffe were not very successful this evening. Only one plane was hit and the men that bailed did not land anywhere near the four prisoners. "Can't win them all," Hogan stated as they walked back to the tree stump.

The four men carefully avoided the searchlights as they scrambled down the ladder.

"How many times have we been out this week?" LeBeau asked in a tired voice. "I lost count."

"Four," replied Kinchloe, who met the team at the bottom of the ladder. As per custom, the colored radioman was monitoring the communications equipment while men were outside the wire. It was simpler for Kinchloe to remain below because he now lived in Barracks 2, although the main operatives also realized that Kinch, now in charge of communications, somehow felt personally responsible for the team and his commanding officer.

Kinch and Hogan were very close, and no one dared question their relationship or Kinch's place in the scheme of things. Hogan dealt swiftly and strongly with any malcontents, and if anyone harbored racist thoughts or resentment of Kinch's position, they kept their feelings hidden.

Broughton also lived in Barracks 2, and he assisted with the upkeep of the electrical system and wiring in the tunnels. He occasionally monitored the radio and telegraph as well. Baker eventually moved to a hut across the compound.

"If the Krauts keep building up their military infrastructure in this area, we may be out seven nights a week." Hogan wiped the soot off his face and began to head for the changing area, when a signal came over the radio. Everyone paused as Kinch hurried over and took the message. He carefully wrote some notes down on a piece of blue paper, and then handed the sheet to Hogan.

The colonel quickly read it, and then looked up. "We're getting two men from the plane that went down. The Underground picked them up. The safe house is compromised due to Gestapo activity, so they'll be hiding here. Otto is bringing them in."

"I'll stay," Kinch said.

"No. Send Baker down with another man, and then come up top. You need to get some sleep," Hogan ordered. He looked at his watch. "We have four hours until roll call."

Fortunately, the two men, the co-pilot and a gunner, were uninjured. They were both British, as it was a night raid, but the next morning, the men explained that several American observers were on-board.

"It's a shame, Colonel," the co-pilot said. "A few of our boys were hurt; they let themselves be captured to save us. The rest drifted right into the arms of the Jerries. One, an American sergeant, was an ordinance and chemical expert. He was young, but knowledgeable. Nice chap. Very chatty. Pity."

"Blimey, we could use someone like that, Colonel." Newkirk, holding a tape measure, was starting the process of outfitting the two airmen.

"Sorry we couldn't help everyone," Hogan said. "I'll try and find out what happened to the rest of the men."

"How can you possibly get that information, sir?" asked the gunner.

"Radio contact or better yet, right to the source. The Kommandant." Hogan grinned.

As he walked across the compound, Hogan thought about the downed crew, and in particular, the American ordinance expert now fated to languish in a prison camp. He exchanged salutes and words with a few of the prisoners, and then spied Maddock heading his way. Hogan stopped to speak to the former MOC. As usual, Maddock carried a large amount of paperwork.

"Got the latest work details done, Colonel. Schultz has his copies. I also have the class schedule, the rec call schedule, the latest draft of the newspaper for your approval, and sick-call reports. There are no disciplinary reports this week, thank goodness. Oh, and here is the list of needed supplies."

"I'm heading over to see Klink, so I'll take the supply requests. The rest of the paperwork can go on my desk. Oh, and great job." Running the clandestine operation was a full-time proposition, and shortly after Hogan decided to remain a prisoner, Maddock and his small staff took over all of the daily mundane tasks. This enabled the colonel and his operatives in Barracks 2 to focus solely on the more dangerous aspects of their captivity. This was a safer and more efficient use of personnel. Klink didn't know this, of course, and Schultz chose not to care. As long as the camp ran smoothly, Klink had no need to question job descriptions or hut assignments.

Hogan was not stopped by the guards on the porch outside the office. He sauntered inside and greeted Helga with a smile. There was no need to ask if he had an appointment. Hogan seemed to move about the camp at will, and the Kommandant's office was no exception.

"Good morning, Colonel Hogan." Helga and the colonel shared an innocent flirtation that went no further than a kiss on the cheek and an exchange of black market gifts. Helga frequently exchanged these gifts for information, and she was now dating Corporal Langenscheidt, but she couldn't help but admit that she enjoyed the attention from the older man. Anything to help the allies, she often told herself. "I assume you wish to speak with the Kommandant."

"Correct." He bent down and whispered in her ear. "Any news about the raid last night?"

"Yes. He is on the phone..." Helga stopped as the door to the office opened, revealing an obviously uptight German Oberst.

Hogan immediately drew in a breath, and instinctively went into manipulation mode. His demeanor and tone of voice changed whenever he spoke with the Kommandant. He adjusted his posture and saluted.

"Good morning, sir. I hoped I could speak with you about some needed supplies." Hogan stopped and approached the Kommandant, wondering, not for the first time, how far he could push Klink's buttons.

Klink stared at the American for a moment, and then waved him into the office. Klink found Hogan to be a useful sounding board. The colonel, while reticent to reveal any useful information, did listen politely to Klink's concerns. Of course, the Kommandant was also careful with his words, not that Hogan could make use of anything the Kommandant told him. Most of Klink's dealings with other officers in his sector were stressful. It was a nice change to converse with an equal, even if the equal was a prisoner, without worrying that someone was in the process of stabbing your back.

"I heard a plane was shot down last night," Hogan told Klink. The colonel was examining the books on the shelves. He swiped a piece of candy from a dish made of tongue depressors. "They do nice work," he said as he unwrapped the candy and popped it into his mouth.

"Who does nice work?" Klink asked as he took the seat behind his desk.

"The boys in the rec hall." Hogan moved over to the desk and plopped down in the chair facing Klink. "So, did anyone bail out?" He asked nonchalantly as he removed the list of supplies from his pocket. "Here's a list of things we need." He passed the paper over to Klink.

"I will take this under consideration," Klink said. "And yes, I have been informed that the whole crew bailed out." Klink picked up a pencil and began to read the supply lists. As he checked off some items and jotted down some notes, Hogan continued to distract the Kommandant.

"What a relief." Hogan leaned back. "And more prisoners for you. Congratulations, sir. I'll have my staff make space available."

Klink put down his pencil and looked up. He leaned forward. "That won't be necessary. Eight men were captured and they were not sent here." Klink was obviously bitter, and Hogan was ready to exploit the Kommandant's anger at being slighted.

"Well, if you ask me, that's a slight. Why would they do that, sir? If they weren't going to send them to the interrogation center, you would think they would send them here. We are a lot closer, and you have the better record." Hogan began playing with the pickelhaube on Klink's desk.

Klink watched the officer for a moment. Sure enough, the colonel pricked his finger, and the Kommandant smiled as he watched Hogan put his finger in his mouth. For all the American's bravado, he was still a bundle of nerves. The colonel was constantly in motion. He would drum his fingers on the arm of his chair, walk over to the photos on the wall and straighten them. He frequently adjusted his bomber jacket, or fiddled with his crush cap. Klink was sure the colonel would eventually calm down, but for now, Klink found Hogan's actions to be amusing, and surprisingly pitiful.

"No. They sent them to Stalag 5. Imagine that. They are overcrowded as it is."

Stalag 5. It was too late to rescue the poor crew, but perhaps he could somehow get the crew transferred. Where was the camp's location? As he was about to work his way around Klink's desk to look at the map of Germany and the occupied territories, the phone rang.

Klink held up his hand to stop the conversation. "Yes, put him on." He listened intently for a few moments.

As Hogan marveled at Klink's utter lack of concern that a phone conversation was held in front of a German-speaking American officer, he walked around to the back of the desk and stared at the map. He quickly located Stalag 5, a large camp that held both ground troops and airmen in several compounds. Like all pilots, he had an innate ability to digest maps quickly and accurately. He continued to look over the area surrounding Hamelburg, and then tried to pick out the numerous POW camps on the continent. The list kept growing, and he knew Klink added new locations to the map on a regular basis. Satisfied that no camps were added since he last checked, Hogan listened to Klink's end of the conversation.

"Well, we don't have a bomb disposal unit here. You'll have to request one from the ordinance department. And I suggest you do it quickly."

The conversation became more interesting, and Hogan walked back over to the chair. He sat down.

"One of your bombs landed on a nearby plant," Klink, his hand over the receiver, told Hogan, "But it didn't go off." He listened to the voice on the other end of the phone. "Well, I'm glad the area has been totally evacuated. Wait, you didn't say where this bomb landed." Klink's eyes went wide, and he smiled. "Yes, good luck, and Heil Hitler."

Klink hung up. He looked to Hogan like a man who had just won a sweepstakes.

"I thought you would be upset about an unexploded bomb landing on one of your factories, sir." This was a distraction, and Hogan wanted to get back to the crew sent to Stalag 5.

"You would think that, Colonel Hogan, but not this specific plant. This plant is run by a very unpleasant man. It's not all that crucial to the war effort."

Hogan smiled. "The printing plant. The one that wouldn't change your stationery without charging exorbitant fees." Klink talked Hogan's ear off one evening while playing chess. Hearing more about the entire saga of the name change fiasco was the price Hogan had to pay for buttering up the Kommandant. Hogan decided it was a good time to make an exit. "I'll leave that supply list for you, sir. Thank you for your time."

"We have other places that print leaflets. I'll get back to you, Colonel Hogan. Dismissed."

After an exchange of salutes, Hogan headed for the door, then turned and said, "You know, you are correct about Stalag 5. Why would they send those men to an overcrowded camp, while your camp can handle the extra population?"

"Did I say that?" Klink stood up. "Yes, I did. You are right. I will look into this."

Hogan smiled and turned to leave. Hook line and sinker. He was about to turn the door handle, when a huge explosion sent both officers to the floor. The building shook for a moment, although the explosion was obviously a distance away. Hogan quickly scrambled to his feet and flung open the door. Klink followed. To their relief, Helga, still at her desk, appeared unfazed.

"What was that Kommandant?" she asked.

"I believe that was the printing plant," Klink responded.

"And that, Kommandant, is what we call poetic justice," Hogan said.

******************

and with the end of the beginning, in this fictional world, we slowly move towards the new set of characters interacting with the established group of POW's. The operation continues to grow and develop, and Hogan realizes his duty is to these men and the Underground.

But...there is one "minor" detail that remains: Stay tuned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: The title of this chapter is taken from a famous speech given by Winston Churchill on 10 NOVEMBER 1942. (after the defeat of Rommel in Egypt) "The Germans have received back again that measure of fire and steel which they have so often meted out to others. Now this is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning."
> 
> Read the entire speech. It is easy to find. Some may find part of it controversial...namely, his words about not presiding over the liquidation of the British Empire. British colonialism was a sore point between FDR and Churchill. Nevertheless, it is the above words that most people seem to recall, and they are, indeed, memorable and moving.


	33. Klink to the Rescue

.

What's in a Name

Chapter 33

Klink To the Rescue

I appreciate everyone's interest, in this, my longest story. Thank you for sticking with it!

Hogan felt surprisingly uncomfortable as he headed back to the barracks after leaving Klink's office. Putting the fate of the eight fliers into Klink's hands bothered him. Thinking back to the manipulation of Marceau's transfer, Hogan decided to call a meeting with his operatives and Underground to discuss ways to take control of prisoner movement in the area. After all, they had the ability to forge orders and sneak them onto Klink's desk. If there was a possibility to deal with larger groups of prisoners, Hogan wanted to implement the plan. However, he realized that was not what was bothering him. First of all, the fliers weren't in any danger. Rescuing them would be the best conceivable outcome, but if that was not possible, a transfer to Stalag 13 would still be a bonus. He knew he had noticed, heard or seen something, but he could not put his finger on what it was.

Hogan entered the hut and headed down below to check the progress on the bugging of Klink's office, and to inform the two rescued fliers that the rest of the crew was taken to Stalag 5. He found Kinch standing over a table, examining a coffee pot that was in pieces. Nothing surprised the colonel anymore, but perhaps this was what it seemed-a broken coffee pot-which technically could be considered an emergency.

"It's not what you think, Colonel," Kinch, sensing Hogan's presence, stated.

"Then what is it?" Hogan peered at the wires, and bits and pieces he could not identify.

"Once we finish the wiring to Klink's office, this innocent looking appliance will be our receiver," Kinch explained patiently. "I'm putting it back together, and then we're testing it down here. Broughton is in another part of the tunnel. "Watch you don't trip over the wire." Kinch gingerly picked up a piece of the pot, and installed it in the bottom.

"Better make sure no one tries to make coffee in that thing." Hogan was not surprised at the ingenuity of his men. After all, they managed to install an antenna right under the Germans' noses. Actually, it was above the Germans' noses. Their aerial to London was installed in the flagpole.

"How did the meeting with the Kommandant go, sir?" Kinch asked as he continued to work.

"The eight men went to Stalag 5. Which meant Klink's ego needed inflating. Where are our two guests?"

"Taking a nap," Kinch said.

"I won't disturb them right now." Hogan grabbed a chair. He sat down, and leaned back in a comfortable position. "I planted the idea in Klink's head that he was slighted, and he fell for it. We need to call a meeting to discuss ways to take control of prisoner movement in the area."

Kinch looked up. "Good idea. We can forge orders and sneak them onto Klink's desk."

Hogan smiled. "You read my mind. But, we need to do more, and it may involve posing as Germans, just like the Underground did when they sprang Captain Marceau. There is something else that is bothering me. But I can't put my finger on it," Hogan admitted.

"London, sir?" Kinch knew that the SOE was beginning to put pressure on their new golden boy. The Travelers' Aide society, as contacts in London dubbed the operation, was expanding. Recently, London politely asked Hogan and his crew to send back more surveillance, and to consider sabotaging areas not suitable for bombing runs.

As Hogan made it clear, "asking is a civilized way to give you an order." No one was surprised when the colonel gave London an affirmative reply. After the expected shocked reactions from the prisoners, the main operatives thought it over, discussed it among themselves, and then readily agreed to go one step further. They were already risking their lives to rescue fliers and escapees. So why not do more?

"Nope, that's not it. I'd really like to get that explosives expert in here."

"That would be Andrew Carter. He is tech sergeant from out west somewhere," Kinch told Hogan. "I got all their names written down. So, besides forging transfer orders and getting them over to Stalag 5, what can we do?"

"Right now, we can't get there, and I don't want the local civilians going that far. We'll have to see what Klink can manage on his own," Hogan stated. "It's safer to let him try, and we can't save everyone," he reminded the sergeant. He leaned forward in his chair. The coffee pot was now whole and he was anxious to see if the experiment worked.

*******

Klink thought about calling Stalag 5 directly and demanding the transfer of the eight new prisoners. However, he had second thoughts. Why would the Kommandant, Major Strauss, agree to the request? It was rather unusual, and really did not make sense. After all, the men were already there. If he had word before they were sent off on the longer journey, he could have done something. Yet, he did feel slighted. Klink drummed his fingers on his desk as he tried to think of a way to complete his goal. Calling General Burkhalter was not an option. He would laugh, or worse yet, get angry at Klink for bothering him. The general became more ornery the longer the war dragged on. The Kommandant imagined the general's response.

"Why are you bothering me about prisoners already delivered to another POW camp, Klink? If you don't have better things to do, I can see that you are sent where they can really use your body, I mean skills."

Klink involuntarily shuddered at the imaginary thought of being given a one-way ticket to the Russian Front.

The German bureaucracy, while efficient in many ways, seemed to be inefficient in this one regard. Prisoners were sent all over the place, and the personnel, trucks or train cars could be put to better use. Klink assumed that desk officers had taken over the reins, and were not considering factors such as timing, location, and operations. He sighed. No, these men should have been his, and he was not going to give them up without a fight. There was something he could do. Bribery. Klink reached for the intercom. "Helga, come in here please."

Helga grabbed her steno pad and knocked on the door of the Kommandant's office. She was also wondering about the men sent to Stalag 5, and hoped that the Kommandant could get them transferred. Perhaps they could be rescued and sent back to England; but she had no idea how that could be accomplished.

"Come in."

Helga entered, but before she took a seat, the Kommandant told her the steno pad was not necessary.

"I need to know if we have any extra supplies," Klink told her.

"Kommandant, should I call for the supply sergeant?"

"No, not those supplies. The other ones, you know..." Klink had quite a stash. Most of the food and liquor was stored in his quarters, but Helga had a prepared inventory of the various gifts brought by visitors, plus misdirected deliveries of various items stored in the office closet, credenza and VIP quarters.

"I will get my list." Helga ran back into the outer office, and brought back a file. She placed it on Klink's desk and sat down. "Everything is up-to-date. I also added the large map we received in error last week." She wondered what the Kommandant had in mind.

Fortunately, he told her. "I want to see if we can do a prisoner exchange. Stalag 5 has prisoners that rightfully should have been brought here. Major Strauss is cordial, but he is stubborn, and I am sure he will not give them up unless I provide something in return. I do not want to give them the map. It will look much better behind my desk, and it is easier to read. The other one is too small. We can certainly give them that one, and let's see what else we have to offer."

A short while later, Klink was on the phone with the Kommandant of Stalag 5.

"I am very well, Strauss. And you?

"Splendid.

"I understand you took in eight prisoners from a British plane that was shot down last night.

"You did. Oh, I did not know there were several Americans on board as well. Since we have relieved your overcrowding in the past, I am ready and willing to take them off your hands.

Klink's face fell. As expected, Strauss told him he did not need Klink's help.

"I see. You are aware a patrol captured these prisoners not too far from here, and protocol states they should have been brought to my camp.

"You weren't aware that made a difference." Klink let out a sigh. "Yes, they should have gone to the interrogation center, and I do agree that goodness knows where they would be sent afterwards."

Klink listened for a moment. "Yes." He nodded. "I see, and no, I don't know what makes this group of men so special." He has a point. Klink had a vague recollection of Hogan putting thoughts into his head, but he then dismissed the notion, which was ludicrous. These prisoners were his and he wanted them, no matter how ridiculous the effort.

"I will tell you what. I have some extra items I can do without. Perhaps we can make a trade?" Klink nodded at Helga and smiled. In his line of work, supplies often acted as currency. "Here is a partial list. A nice map of our country, plus the occupied territories, with all the POW camps in the system clearly marked.

"Yes, it is framed. We have four large crates of French cigarettes, and a carton of record albums." Klink owned an extensive collection; these were duplicates and the prisoners refused to listen to them.

"What else? You drive a hard bargain. I can throw in a few canned French goods, and typewriter ribbons." Helga said they did not fit the models in use at camp. "Oh, and about 10,000 tongue depressors." There was still a lot left from the original shipment. "You will? The tongue depressors sealed the deal? Wonderful. Of course, a large camp such as yours can never have enough tongue depressors. When can I expect the prisoners to be ready?"

Klink jotted a note and handed it to Helga. She immediately went outside and told the guard to fetch Colonel Hogan, and to have the boxes of tongue depressors removed from the recreation hall. She was jubilant. She knew the colonel had planted the idea of transferring the prisoners in Klink's head, and yet, she was proud of her boss for handling this without Hogan's help.

She went back into the office and noted that Klink looked very proud of himself. "We will soon be getting more prisoners, Helga."

"Shall I start packing the items, Kommandant?"

"Not yet. Unfortunately, there is short delay. A few of them are receiving medical treatment. They will bring all of them to us at the same time. And then, they will take the items back."

"Very good, Kommandant." Helga heard the door to the outer office open, and she poked her head out. "Colonel Hogan is here."

"Send him in." Klink, now feeling quite satisfied with himself, was about to take his seat. Remembering the map he promised Stalag 5, he went over to the wall and took it down.

Hogan and Helga exchanged pleasantries, and then he entered the office. "You sent for me, sir?" he said, noticing Klink looked rather pleased. Hogan hoped this had something to do with the eight prisoners taken to Stalag 5.

"Yes, Colonel Hogan. Please, sit." He pointed to the chair.

Hogan took his seat and waited.

"I have some good news for you. We will shortly be receiving eight more prisoners. The ones from the British plane shot down last night."

Hogan watched in astonishment as the Kommandant gleefully clapped his hands together.

He nodded. "You get what you deserve, sir. Well-done."

"Thank you. You know, I actually had second thoughts about pursuing this action. It seemed so, so...petty. But then, I realized it was not right. It was not an efficient use of resources."

He actually has a point, Hogan thought. "True. I'll get quarters prepared right away."

"We have some time. They will not be coming for several weeks. The Kommandant of Stalag 5-and I will confess he is a reasonable man-told me several of the men are in need of medical care. Once they can be released, he will send the eight here together."

"That sounds fair," Hogan stated. "How much did you have to give him?"

"Oh, not much. Some phonograph records, typewriter ribbons, the rest of the tongue depressors and...How did you know I had to offer goods?"

"I'm a career man, sir. I know how the military works. Food and supplies are the best currency." Hogan glanced up at the wall, and saw that the map was missing. "Where is the map that was behind you? That's an awfully big space to keep blank." He quickly glanced at the other wall. Thankfully, the photo of Hitler, the bug hidden behind it, was still there. Once all the wires were attached, the prisoners would be able to eavesdrop on Klink.

"Oh, that is going to Stalag 5. We received a much bigger map several weeks ago. It was meant for the other camp, but I kept it." Klink smiled. "I've been meaning to have maintenance hang it, but never got around to it. Now it will be done."

Hogan smiled. "I'm sure a larger map will be easier to use." He reminded himself to ask Newkirk to sneak in and take photos of the new map.

"It will give me extra room to mark the locations of new POW camps. We are building more and more. In fact, I will show you." Klink went over to the credenza, reached behind it, and pulled out the map. There was no harm in pointing out the reach of the Third Reich to Hogan. After all, he often announced victories to the prisoners at roll call. This was just as relevant.

Klink brought the map over, and moved some items off his desk. He then placed it on top, while Hogan helpfully put items on the corners so to stop the edges from rolling.

"I see what you mean," he admitted. Hogan had perfect vision, but this map was easier to read. "So, I know we are here." Hogan pointed to their camp. "And the other Stalag 13 is down here."

"Correct." Klink pointed to Stalag 5. "This is where the eight prisoners are being held. You can clearly see how far that is. As I said, it was a waste of petrol and manpower to bring them there."

Hogan entered buttering up mode, as some of the men dubbed his manipulation. "Well, now the other Kommandants will get word that you mean business, sir, and that you drive a hard bargain." It was not easy; buttering up Klink reminded the colonel of pancakes slathered with butter and syrup, and his stomach began to growl. A potato pancake, or latke as the Jewish prisoners called the frequent dish, was not an appropriate substitute. Although, they admitted that LeBeau's version was not bad.

As Hogan was dismissed, he realized something about the map piqued his interest, but he still could not pinpoint it. Once the photos of the new map were developed, Hogan would get a better look, although he decided it was probably not important. He definitely would have remembered seeing something critical. Right now, there were two fliers to process and send on their way, and with several weeks to go before the arrival of the prisoners from Stalag 5, perhaps he could hatch a plan to send them to England as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this early stage in the operation and Hogan's command, I feel it is conceivable that their reach would not extend as far as the other Stalag (which I made quite a distance away), nor would they have the experience and manpower at this point to track the transport and stage a rescue.
> 
> Major Strauss is the Kommandant of Stalag 5 (thank you, Sgt. Hakeswill for your fantastic memory) and appeared in Standing Room Only.


	34. A Revelation

.

What's in a Name

Chapter 34

A Revelation

Hogan had a few weeks to plan a rescue of the eight prisoners being held at Stalag Five. But after speaking with his operatives and leaders of the local Underground cells, Hogan concluded that, at this time, diverting the truck was too risky. The distance was too far, and there was no way to determine the timing and exact route of the transport. However, the prisoners, London and the Underground all agreed to work together to develop plans for future similar scenarios. Several weeks after the plane was shot down, the eight arrived at camp, and the operation acquired a chemical and explosives expert.

"You mean to tell me that this entire operation started with a numbering mix-up?" Carter asked again.

"Don't look at me," said Kinch. "I've haven't been here much longer than you have."

Newkirk hid his frustration at the sergeant's constant questions; chalking it up to nerves. "Would I lie to you, Andrew?"

"Well, I don't know, Peter. I don't know you that well, do I? I've only been here for two weeks, and how can I tell if you were lying? Although my Great-Grandma Henny, that's the one with the German background…did I tell you how she only spoke German to me?"

"Five times, Carter." LeBeau broke in. He tried to be patient. While the young sergeant's enthusiasm was infectious, he would not stop talking.

Carter looked up from his switches. "Oh, sorry. I did. Where was I?"

"Lying." Newkirk not yet fully confident in the ability of their new explosives expert to not blow them all up, swiftly stepped away from the table, as the sergeant blew away some dust and then playfully tossed the switches into the air. He caught them and put them in a box on the shelf.

"Don't worry, these aren't active. They're just switches. Lying. Great-Grandma Henny used to tell me that you can always tell if a person is lying by looking at their eyes." He laughed. "Used to work with me. I used to steal cookies before supper. I think every kid does that, don't you? Or steal pies. Anyway, she could tell. But, I don't think that's entirely right. I mean some people have made lying into an art form. Like Colonel Hogan, for instance. I've seen him lie right in front of Schultz and Kommandant Klink, and his eyes don't change a bit. Do they?"

"Well, I haven't really noticed, but then I don't really look into his eyes." Kinchloe smiled.

"I thought you once said they appeared too close together, Kinch." LeBeau poked the radioman in the arm.

"Did I?" Kinch laughed. "I have to go."

"Thanks for your help, Sergeant."

"Call me Kinch, and anytime, Carter."

Kinch left Newkirk and LeBeau alone with their new hut mate. With the tech sergeant's arrival—Hogan admitted Carter was the missing piece in their chess game-the mission became more dangerous. Working in tandem with the Underground, the prisoners were developing the means to disrupt the German war machine.

While the two rescued fliers from the crew made it safely back to England, the eight transferred to Klink's camp quickly realized they were in a much better place, and Carter was no exception.

He was still chatting. "Did I mention how crowded Stalag 5 was? Boy, oh, boy. There were these long huts. Three bunks, not two like we have here. And one stove in the middle for all those men." He shook his head. "We were already freezing, and it's not even winter. And the food was awful, and it was never enough. They could sure use your talents, LeBeau."

"Merci."

Carter looked at his watch and jumped up. "I have to check the darkroom. Those photos should be ready. You two can stay here if you want."

"Um, no. I'll come with you, if you don't mind." Newkirk had no intention of staying near explosive materials without the tech sergeant's presence. Even if Carter was present, Newkirk was still uneasy being near volatile substances.

"I'm coming," LeBeau followed the two out.

The three stopped to talk to Maddock for a moment. The British sergeant was checking on the latest tunnel expansion. Spurs to several barracks were now operational, and work on a branch to Klink's quarters had begun.

"I wish Klink hadn't exchanged the rest of the tongue depressors," he said. "We could have used those to make models." He saw Carter. "They may have helped with the sabotage. Oh well, no use complaining now. Settling in all right, Carter?"

"Fine, Sergeant Maddock. Still can't believe all this came from an undiscovered mine, and the wrong camp number. Still can't believe it." Over the past two weeks, the story of the naming fiasco leaked out to the newcomers-not all at once-but in what Carter would call chapters. It was so convoluted and mind-boggling, he thought, that he still couldn't wrap his head around it. In fact, he wondered if someone, somewhere, was pulling the strings. After all, Sergeant Matlack's mysterious coded letter from his brother-the one with the quick turnaround time- was certainly a sign of someone working behind the scenes, not just in London, but perhaps locally. Carter did not yet feel comfortable expressing his theories to anyone. For now, he just tried to do his part.

Carter opened the door of the newly completed darkroom and removed the developed film. While not the only prisoner familiar with the process, Carter spent a great deal of time in the tunnels, and he was normally available. In addition, his civilian work in chemicals and as a pharmacy assistant made him the more experienced photo technician.

Carter had other useful skills. He was fluent in German, and he boasted an uncanny acting ability. When Hogan appointed Carter to the core espionage team, the sergeant was enthusiastic and willing to oblige.

Two other American observers were on the doomed flight. Sergeant Wilson, an older recruit with medical training, was on board to take photos. The other American, Master Sergeant McMahon, was a meteorologist. They both quickly settled in and their skills were an asset to the camp and operation.

Hogan, plus the four members of his main team—Olsen was out of camp- crowded around the table in Hogan's office. The photos were of the new map in Klink's office. The colonel arranged them in order, and then took the jeweler's magnifying glass from Newkirk. "Nice work," Hogan said. He thought back to the day he examined the map on Klink's wall. That niggling thought was still present, and he was sure it had something to do with the map. He stared at the photos for quite some time. "I know there's something here."

Kinch recalled the conversation from weeks before. "What were you looking at in Klink's office, Colonel?"

"To see if any new POW camps were added," Hogan replied. He turned his attention to the markers designating open POW camps; and then it hit him.

It took another look to fully comprehend what he had seen. Then he asked the men surrounding him to confirm his findings.

"Well, that's just bloody marvelous." Newkirk grinned.

Kinch scratched his head in disbelief. LeBeau, happy to see the Bosch humiliated, laughed. Carter was too new and naïve to initially comprehend the ramifications, and at Hogan's behest, ran off to fetch Maddock.

While he waited for the former MOC to arrive, Hogan thought about the map. His discovery would not impact the men at camp, or the operation. Should he tell Klink? Never mind that, he thought. How could all these Germans be so wrong?

Carter had no idea how to explain the discovery to Maddock, and just told him the colonel had an issue with a map. The two hurried back over to Barracks 2.

"You called for me, Colonel?" Maddock asked.

"Yes. We just developed these photos of the new map in Klink's office," Hogan said.

"The big one from the other camp?"

"Correct. I thought I saw something odd on the other map, but couldn't quite wrap my head around it." Hogan explained the issue to Maddock, and the sergeant took a good long look at the map and the areas marked as POW camps.

His reaction was as expected. "Wow. Wow. I never had a good look at the map. You know, most of these opened long after a lot of us got here. Wow." He then began to laugh. "This is an odd turn of events, although Klink still has an issue. Will you tell him, sir?"

"I think I owe him that much." Hogan laughed as well. "Goodness knows how he'll react." And the Underground and London as well.

'May I suggest smelling salts, Colonel?" was Newkirk's advice.

HhHhH

Hogan went over to the Kommandant's office and gave Klink a song and dance as to why he was there. He was quickly able to manipulate his way over to the new map, complimenting Klink on how it brightened up the wall space.

"Hogan?" Klink snapped his fingers. "Hogan? Why are you staring at this map? I think that is enough! Someone might think you are planning something."

Hogan looked up at the Kommandant. "Might as well tell you, sir."

"Tell me what?"

"I don't think you are going to like this."

"Not like what?"

"Well, it is possible the locations of the Luft Stalags on this map are incorrect. Although, I don't think that is the case. I mean, you know where you are. I know where we are. We had a good idea where all the camps are, so we wouldn't bomb our own men." Hogan ran his fingers through his hair. He still had to admit this was weird.

"Of course, I know where we are. We're here." Klink placed his finger on the exact location of Luft Stalag 13. And Luft Stalag 1 is here. And 2 is here. And 3 is over here, which is where you probably would have ended up if you hadn't been sent here. What is your point?"

"Look, Kommandant. We are in the sixth military district. You told me that yourself. Look at the numbers of the other Luft Stalags, the closest enlisted camps and Oflags, and the military districts they are in."

Klink looked at Hogan. "I do not understand."

"Look, sir."

Klink bent down and pored over the map for several minutes. He looked north and then south. East and then west. He took a magnifying glass, removed his monocle and then looked again.

The door was open to the outer office, and Hogan motioned for Helga to come over. He whispered in her ear, and her hand flew to her mouth. She came inside, went to the sideboard and poured some brandy. Finally, after what seemed like an interminable time, Klink collapsed in his chair. This was a better reaction than Hogan expected. He feared the Kommandant would take out his sidearm and shoot himself, or at least bang his head against the wall.

However, he appeared to be in shock, and Helga hurried over with the brandy. Meanwhile, by coincidence, Schultz appeared at the open door, and he entered the office. Hogan spotted him, and gave him a sign to be quiet.

"Take a drink, sir," Hogan said.

Klink drained the glass. He then looked up at Hogan. "How could I have missed this?"

"I think the true question, sir, is how did everyone else miss this? Burkhalter? Well, judging from his uniform, he's Heer, actually, isn't he? Why is he in charge of Luftwaffe camps anyway?"

Klink looked up at Hogan. "That is his old uniform. I assure you, General Burkhalter is now Luftwaffe. And he looks after other camps as well."

"Never mind. That's not important. He is a general, and it should have been obvious." Hogan continued. "It should have been obvious to the officers in Luftwaffe headquarters you told me about, the other camp, and the officer who came here when you first opened. I forgot his name."

"I never told you," Klink squeaked. "I shall admit I forgot it as well. It's been over two years."

Schultz stepped forward. "Oberst Wolfram Gratz, Kommandant. What is going on?"

Klink did not reply. He just took out his monocle and cupped his forehead. "Oh, my," he moaned.

Helga opened a desk drawer and removed some aspirin, while Hogan hurried over with a glass of water. Helga put the aspirin in Klink's hand, and like a child, he swallowed it.

"Don't you have a manual for this sort of thing?" Hogan asked.

"Yes. It is quite large."

"It is at the top of the closet." Helga went over to the closet and opened the door. She could not reach, but Hogan was there to offer a helping hand. "Thank you, Colonel." She smiled, but all the while, she could not believe the Underground and British intelligence missed this as well.

A still confused Schultz walked over to Hogan. "Colonel Hogan, what is the matter?" he whispered. Hogan whispered into his ear and watched as Schultz turned pale.

Klink opened the binder, which seemed to weigh a ton. He readily admitted he had not read every single page. Most of the information did not pertain to the day-to-day running of a prisoner of war camp. Sure, he signed off on it and sent the notarized paper back. Everyone signed off on the terms and conditions, but who actually read all of them? As far as he knew, none of the other local Kommandants had. He looked at the index, and then found the page marked Procedures: Opening of new Luft Stalags.

Hogan, Schultz and Helga watched over his shoulder.

Klink leafed through the pages and found the section he wanted. He blew away the dust. "Uh uh. Uh uh." Klink's finger ran down the page. "Nothing there." He turned the page. Again, nothing. "Finally," he said. "I think this is it."

Klink read the paragraph aloud. "Luftwaffe camps are to be 'numbered in the order in which they are opened.'" (1) He looked up at Hogan, Helga and Schultz. "Everyone was wrong. We were all wrong," he repeated. "All the paperwork, the hassle. For what?"

"Well, if you want to get technical, Kommandant," Schultz said slowly. "We should not be Luft Stalag 13, either. There are not that many open Luft Stalags."

"He has a point, sir." Hogan took another close look at the map. "Not counting this camp, I see one, two, three camps. The labeling mistake had to have happened because of the two Hammelburgs. Or maybe they thought you were a sub-camp of the other Stalag. It has nothing to do with the military district at all. It was probably just a silly, little typographical error. And it wasn't caught in time."

"You are right, Colonel Hogan. And as Oberst Gratz said, the person who originally made the mistake was dealt with." Klink rubbed his chin. "According to when these camps opened, we should actually be Luft Stalag 2!"

"Ooh, sorry, sir. That is pouring salt into the wound." Hogan somehow mustered a sympathetic smile.

"I should contact General Burkhalter about this." Klink reached for the phone and then stopped at Hogan's loud and emphatic no.

"No? I shouldn't call the general?"

To Hogan, Klink now resembled a deer caught in headlights. "And point out that he made a mistake? That will not go over well, sir."

Klink winced. "Yes. He would not take that well. No superior officer would." And he is exceedingly grumpy. "But what should we do?"

"Nothing," Hogan stated.

"Nothing?" asked both Klink and Schultz.

Meanwhile, Helga closed the manual. She removed it from the desk and found a place for it on a bookshelf.

"When was the last time Burkhalter mentioned the naming fiasco?" Hogan asked.

"Let me think." Klink removed his monocle and polished it. "Ah." he put it back in. "I remember the exact time. It was when you arrived. However, he has been very busy since then. I heard he has been dealing with family issues."

"Nine weeks, give or take," Hogan stated. "And when was the last time something unusual occurred? Say, wrong personnel, prisoners, deliveries."

Helga stepped forward. "Except for the large map and the tongue depressors, not for quite some time, Colonel Hogan."

"What are you saying, Hogan?" Klink looked at his prize prisoner.

"I'd say this whole fiasco is sorting itself out. Don't make waves or draw attention to yourself. Fly under the radar; sweep it under the rug. That's it. I've run out of clichés."

"I will not bother the general with something so mundane." Klink parroted back Hogan's advice. "Everything is sorting itself out. We are the toughest prison camp in all of Germany, Stalag 13, in Hamelburg. With one 'm!'"

"Your decisiveness is truly an inspiration, sir."

"Thank you, Colonel Hogan." Klink fortunately did not notice Schultz rolling his eyes at Hogan's flattery. "And for the sake of everyone, I want this going no further. You're all dismissed. Wait, Schultz remain here for a moment."

"Yes, sir. Kept under wraps." Hogan saluted and followed Helga into the outer office. Although Klink's door was open, being alone with the secretary in the outer office was proof that Klink's trust in Hogan grew week by week. "He took that better than I anticipated. You still have that bathing suit in your bottom drawer?" he whispered to Helga.

Helga restrained herself from slapping the colonel on the face. "Is nothing safe or sacred?" she whispered back.

"No," Hogan answered in a lower tone of voice. A tone that meant business.

She smiled. "I will definitely keep that in mind, Colonel Hogan." He is in command now; and that is good.

Schultz, carrying some paperwork, left Klink's office. "I will see you back to the barracks, Colonel Hogan." This was the sergeant's clue that he wanted to investigate what, if anything, LeBeau was cooking. Hogan obliged.

"All right, Schultz. After you. Fraulein." He tipped his cap and followed Schultz out the door.

"Did you have something to do with this, Colonel Hogan?" Schultz, who told the prisoners more than once that he saw nothing, knew more than he claimed.

Hogan laughed. "Now how could I manage that, Schultz? And, why would I waste my energy on something this harmless?"

"Harmless for you. But maybe not harmless for the big shot?" Schultz replied.

"Don't worry, big guy. We've got you covered." Hogan glanced around the compound, and headed down the stairs. He was in a good mood. This harmless incident was a much-needed distraction from the war. He was sure it would not remain a secret for long. Eventually, word would get out, and the over three hundred men he now commanded, as well as the guards, would get some laughs out of the amusing episode. He pulled down the bottom of his jacket, which now that he had regained some weight, tended to ride up.

Hogan spied Maddock conferring with the men from his barracks, men he now trusted with his life and the lives of the other prisoners. He jogged over to the group, and gave them a quick rundown of the meeting with Klink. Schultz, of course, did not jog, but caught up to Hogan a few moments later.

"Colonel Hogan. The Kommandant specifically said not to spread word of this around."

"Don't worry, Schultz. It won't make the camp paper." Maddock patted the sergeant on the back. "Not the official one, anyway," he whispered to the colonel.

"All right, men, back to the barracks," Hogan announced with a grin. "Fun's over."

****one more chapter to come****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So how many of you actually read those terms and conditions (the entire thing) on the internet before checking the box? Yeah, that's what I thought.
> 
> (1) The Long Road: Trials and Tribulations of Airmen Prisoners from Stalag Luft VII (Bankau) to Berlin , June 1944 - May 1945 by Oliver Clutton-Brock and Raymond Crompton page 15. c. 2014. Originally accessed on Google Books: August, 2014, posted on Google books, in 2014.
> 
> When the story is completed, I will post an explanation in the forums, as I believe it is of historical interest. But briefly, I never noticed what Hogan noticed, until I tried to update my research on the transit/interrogation camp in an earlier chapter. (the one where Hogan was captured.) I was just trying to get an idea of the layout, and happened across the above quote in the google books listing. As you can see, the book is from 2014, and the google books posting was also from that year. I initially didn't trust the resource (due to its lack of documentation, but I took a second look at the maps myself.) So, my initial research into numbering (when I first began the story) did not pull this information up. I have looked at the maps of POW camps many, many times (both in books and online...usually for location, distance purposes) since I first began writing in 2008, and I never caught the fact that in many cases, the Luft Stalag (there weren't too many) numbers didn't match the numbers of other stalags located nearby.
> 
> I believe quite a few of us thought the numbers should match the military district, and this was mentioned more than once in forum postings before the purge, and in other areas.
> 
> In the beginning, camps changed numbers and moved around. Names and numbers switched locations. It is very confusing. It appears that the first camp was opened in Sudauen, Poland in 1939. it later became Stalag Luft 4 in 1942. The camp Hogan recalls in chapter 28, is located in Barth, opened in 6/40, becoming 2 in 41, and then back to 1. (I got a similar chart from 5 different sites, and the charts appeared to have been compiled from German sites, one of which is from Moosburg. Wikipedia's list is close, but not exactly the same. You have to be careful with wikipedia)
> 
> However: websites/resources online are all over the place and a lot of the records of pow camps are incomplete. Sometimes a website will show listings of a few Luft Stalags in the same military district. But basically, I set out to write a humorous (and much shorter) tale depicting the confusion regarding the number and location (also prompted by friendly arguments over whether the camp is a sub-camp of the real Stalag 13, or if it just another Luft Stalag in the Dusseldorf area.) I am glad, however. Because of this story and the extra research I did, I discovered my mistake and now hope to set the record straight.


	35. Epilogue: Egg on our Face

This is the final chapter! Thank you to everyone for your support. All of your feedback helped and prompted me to expand the story. (which was originally 11 chapters in my outline!) Thank you for your support of my O/C, Sgt. Maddock! He was thrown into a situation and performed his duty. I think he deserves a promotion and lots of medals. I had several readers beg me not to kill him off! (wasn't going to happen...this is marked general/humor)

And I bounced ideas off a lot of you! And asked your opinions. Thank you for all of your personal help! Abracadebra, Bits and Pieces, Book-em-Again, ColHogan, Konarciq, Missy the Least, Sgt. Hakeswill, Sgt. Moffitt, Willwrites4fics. There may be others, and if I missed any of you, my apologies.

Please check the forums for more information regarding camp numbering systems, my sources, etc. It may take me a while to put the information together, but I should hopefully post something sometime in November.

Chapter 35

Epilogue: Egg on our Face

The person considered most responsible for making good use of the naming errors was enjoying a rare weekend off. She spent some time with Corporal Langenscheidt, and then met with Oskar and Greta Schnitzer for brunch on Sunday morning. Max and Otto were also present, and Helga updated her friends with the latest information on the numbering issue.

"Colonel Hogan will work on permanently removing the only remaining mine blueprint from the Dusseldorf office," she reported between bites of Greta's delicious pastry.

"I still cannot believe all this was wrong from the beginning," Otto said.

"Well, yes and no." Oskar had a hard time wrapping his head around exactly what was incorrect, but as far as he knew, the numbering mistake still existed and it still played an integral role in setting up the tunnel system, and the operation. "Whether it is thirteen, six or two, it does not matter. It is what it is, and thanks to Helga here, and the inefficiency of every department, our role is clear. The tunnel system gets bigger, and we expand our operation."

"Well, I still feel we should have noticed the error as well. After all, you have all seen the maps." Greta refilled the empty coffee cups and cut some more slices of cake.

"Well, my dear. Colonel Hogan said that when he was still in England, his superiors did not even notice. And we are all amateurs," Oskar told her.

Helga giggled. "You should have seen the Kommandant when he figured out his camp should be labeled Luft Stalag 2. Or at least that is what we think. He was insulted. But thankfully, Colonel Hogan put thoughts into his head, and the matter is closed. I agree it is quite confusing, and I don't blame anyone for thinking it should be numbered camp six."

"Not even that officer that came in two years ago?" Max asked.

"No, not even Wolfram Gratz," Helga replied. "Besides, he supposedly told the Kommandant, and I quote."And now I've forgotten your name, and your pitiful camp."

********

Wehrmacht Oberst Wolfram Gratz was a bureaucrat of the first order. Caring little about the war, politics, or ideology, he determined his place in the scheme of things was to make sure every T was crossed, every I was dotted, and that everything was filed in accordance with regulations. In other words, he created fear and turmoil in his path. He had not thought about the small POW camp in Hamelburg (with one 'm') for quite some time-over two years-in fact; which, not surprisingly, coincided with the inspection he conducted. However, a small notice in a journal garnered his attention. Luft Stalag 13, led by Oberst Wilhelm Klink, was apparently escape-proof. Not only that, but the camp now proudly housed an American colonel, the capture of this man leading to the promotion of one General Biedenbender.

Gratz cared little about Biedenbender or the American. What he did care about was Klink's inability to change the camp number to the correct number; number six, reflecting the military district in the area. Gratz felt a bit magnanimous this morning, and he decided to give Klink the benefit of the doubt. The Kommandant appeared to be scared of his own shadow, and he thought Klink must have attempted to rectify the mistake. So, Gratz controlled his anger and decided to investigate. Perhaps the writer of the article made a mistake. He picked up his phone. "Oberfeldwebel, come in here, please."

Gratz's Master Sergeant was a man made of the same cloth; his life and work revolved around regulation and discipline, and he eagerly dealt proficiently with any task. He entered Gratz's office and saluted. His salutes were, of course, crisp and per regulation.

"Look into this for me. I informed this Kommandant over two years ago that his camp number was incorrect. Verify if the journal made an error and if he got the number changed, or if this camp number is still against regulations."

The sergeant glanced at the article and looked up. "Yes, sir. I will have the information for you by the end of the day." He saluted again and spun on his heels.

This sergeant went right to the source. He called the camp, and then apologized for calling the incorrect phone number. So it is still thirteen, he noted. Gratz did not inform the sergeant what the correct number should be, but the sergeant knew exactly where to go for that information. After several minutes, he sighed. This was a pickle of the first order, he decided. Rectifying the mistake would mean more changes down the line. Nevertheless, regulations were regulations, and these mistakes could not go unnoticed. What would happen to the German army if no one followed the rules?

"I have discovered that the number of that camp in Hamelburg has not been changed," the sergeant reported to Gratz shortly afterwards. 'Perhaps changing the thirteen to two would cause an issue with the other camps down the line, and he decided not to comply. Or his superior, General Burkhalter, ordered him to let it go." He then stepped back and waited for his superior's reaction to his report. It was not what he expected.

"Two? What do you mean, two?" Gratz stood up and walked in front of his sergeant. "It should be six. They are in the sixth military district."

The sergeant, secure in the knowledge that he was correct, and that his superior was mistaken, made a fatal mistake. He pointed out the error. "Luft Stalag numbers are normally assigned based on the order in which they opened. Klink's camp opened not long after the camp at Barth, which began with no number and then went to two, and is now Stalag 1. Though it appears that numbers and locations have moved around, I do not think the military district plays a role in numbering."

"Are you insinuating that I do not know my numbers?"

"No, sir. I never said anything of the sort."

Gratz, seeing the smug look on the sergeant's face, realized he never liked his aide. His posting was due to some family connection, and his propensity for showing off was downright irritating. He dismissed the man and then removed a map from his drawer. Sure enough, he never noticed the discrepancy. Somehow, he must have missed the memo, or he neglected to read a section of the procedure manual. Gratz took out his anger at himself on the absent sergeant, and decided to send his aide packing.

"You think you know so much about regulations and prison camps. How would you like to be assigned to the system? No more cushy Berlin posting for you."

Like many officers working in the bureaucratic maze of the Third Reich, Gratz was unable to own up to his own shortcomings. It was also safer to let some things go. With numbers, names and locations of these camps changing all over the continent, Gratz put the Luft Stalag numbering issue out of his mind for the rest of the war.

Meanwhile, Oberfeldwebel Reinhold Franks worked his way through the entire prison camp system. After raising the efficiency rating at Stalag 5, he ironically found himself sent to Luft Stalag 13 to help whip the camp into shape after the Kommandant received a bad report from the Inspector General. Unfortunately for Franks, his unstoppable force met up with an unmovable object, and he was defeated by a group of men whose ability to arrange the type of shenanigans that brought Franks down, were a direct result of the naming mistake that got him sent to the POW camp system in the first place. This irony, of course, remained a secret to everyone.

the end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Franks appeared in the season 2 episode, "Colonel Klink's Secret Weapon." After a poor grade from the Inspector General, Klink acquires Sergeant Franks, who knows every regulation in the book. Eventually, Franks runs the men ragged and threatens Klink with a trip to the Russian Front (what happened to Feldkamp from Stalag 5.)The men trash the camp and ruin Franks' uniform, getting the best of him...using regulation against him. A downed flier, Lt. Bigelow, (who suspiciously looks like Sgt. Olsen) takes Franks with him to London. (rather than the Gestapo). Klink boasts to Hogan that he got rid of Franks on his own. There is a detailed description of the episode on the Hogan's Heroes' wiki.


End file.
